


Ransom My Heart

by crimandclove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimandclove/pseuds/crimandclove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was the youngest brother of a large family with secrets abound.</p><p>Derek, a lord returning from a Holy War with secrets of his own.</p><p>Stiles, set on a harebrained plot by his favorite sister, needs Derek for his wealth to save the family name. Derek just wants to know more about the unique young man that seemed to have no rules in Derek's own land.</p><p>(A revision of the Meg Cabot book of the same name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: FUCK Y'ALL I ACCIDENTALLY MADE THIS ONE CHAPTER SHOT AGAIN. FML. I STILL AM AN LJ USER AT HEART.
> 
> Okay so this whole plot has been ripped off from the Meg Cabot book 'Ransom My Heart'. If you've read this, it's a pretty close adaptation and obviously I'm not making any money off of it. It's very ... verbose but it's a cute story. I wanted to adapt it to these two cuties. Also I'm placing a sort of age guide below to make it easier for you guys to follow. Please go read the original!
> 
> Also just pretend none of history actually happened. Just truly let all realism go - it'll make it easier. 
> 
> I hope I'm not as verbose and that you enjoy this cute little story as much as I do. If you like this at all, read some of my other fics! As always, don't hesitate to leave me any comments.
> 
> Ages
> 
> Derek - 27  
> Scott - 26  
> Lydia - 25  
> Malia - 23  
> Jackson - 25  
> Erica - 20  
> Stiles - 19  
> Julia - 19  
> Matthew - 15

  
_England, 1291_

The hawk was back.

Stiles saw it the minute he pulled back the shutters on the window of him and his sister Erica’s room and peered outside to see if the sheriff had ridden off yet. The evil-eyed, hulking brown bird was making eyes at the chickens in the yard below. Stiles knew it had taken off with one of Erica’s favorite chickens two days before, and he was not going to have it happen again.

For someone so clumsy when he was going about his day to day life, Stiles was unerringly good with a bow. He had learned all manners of such from his former friend Allison, who had been all about archery until they both turned fourteen. Apparently her father had heartily disapproved and she gave it up for sewing and other frivolous things of the sort. Stiles’ eldest brother, Scott, had given up on letting him do anything else because he was so good at it.

Archery was one of the only times he felt in control of himself, when he felt his body and mind synchronize into one harmonious piece. Stiles pulled his bow and quiver from where they hung on his bedpost and dropped to the bench that allowed him to aim flawlessly from his low hanging windows. He centered in on his target, that large bird of prey sitting on the barn’s roof. In fact, he was so concentrated he didn’t even hear his sister Lydia approach and fling open the door.

“Stiles!” She cried, and her voice interrupted his thought process so that he loosed the arrow too early and it flopped down into the barn’s room, leaving the bird unharmed. It instead flew off lazily, as if Stiles’ arrow had not fazed him at all.

“Lydia!” Stiles whined, standing up from his kneeling position. “That was a perfectly good arrow and now it’s lodged in the damn barn’s roof.” He pointed an accusing finger out of the window at the frankly idiotic looking arrow. “How am I going to get it back now? Climb up there in broad daylight and snatch it down.

“Fie on you, Stiles,” Lydia spat out as she rearranged her precious hair. “What were you thinking? The Sheriff left not five minutes ago and here you are, shooting at poor innocent birds.”

“Innocent!” Stiles harrumphed as slid his materials onto his back. “I’ll let you know, that innocent little bird ate two of Erica’s chickens within the past week and was eyeing a third not five minutes ago!”

“Have you lost the good brains the Lord above gave you, Stiles? If the sheriff had looked back and seen that arrow fly out of this bedroom window, he’d have turned around and arrested you on the spot.”

Stiles snorted, “He’d never do such a thing. You seem to have forgotten, he treats me like the son he’s never had. Plus, he’d fast be the most hated man in Shropshire.” They lived in a small town and Stiles had quarried the favors of many by bringing them the game that seemed to thwart the millhouse they lived around.

And other areas around the town … but no one seemed to care when their bellies were empty and it was mighty cold outside. Besides that, the sheriff did hold a special place in his heart for Stiles. Perhaps it was because they held a similar first name, or because Stiles never knew his parents well and had latched onto the young deputy when he had first moved to town. He would never quite know, but he did love the sheriff back.

“You forget, the earl’s uncle wouldn’t care either way.” Lydia had always been a beauty queen and pulled her hair down, turning to the mirror that they had acquired somewhere down the roads of their lives. Erica had many bobbles laying around, and Lydia held them up to her hair and hummed. “Can’t you even try to see reason, brother mine? His Lordship knows that it’s you that has been poaching in his woods – “

Stiles rolled his eyes at Lydia, who saw it clearly through the mirror. “Theoderek Hale doesn’t know any such thing. How could he? He’s been in the Holy Land these past ten years. No one’s even heard from him since Michaelmas, when that filthy bailiff – or should I say uncle – of his got word that he had been captured by Saracens.”

“Really, Stiles, you ought not to refer to your betters so coarsely. Peter, though not a direct descendant, is still a Hale, and acting bailiff of his nephew’s estate until further notice. How can you call him filthy? You know we are to treat him with the same respect we would were he our true load. How can you even say such things?”

“Lydia, I know you loathe him as much as I do.” The siblings, though nothing alike, had similar views on most things. Peter Hale was also well known for making passes at both siblings during his time in the village, which promoted their healthy rage against him. Were his youngest sister not such close friends with his stepdaughter Julia, Stiles worried that Erica might be hit on as well. “Sister, you know I will treat him with respect when he begins to act respectable. In the meantime, do not ask me to call such filth my lord. For no noble worth his name would treat his vassals so poorly. 

Lydia sighed again and sat down at the small bench Erica had procured from their sister Malia’s husband. She gestured to Stiles and he sighed but began to dutifully braid her hair. It was another skill he had picked up as the only boy in a string of girls. “Stiles, I know as well as you do of Peter’s lasciviousness. I know there is no point arguing with you on this subject but if you would at least try to wait until no one can catch you at your own game. Peter Hale just needs one arrow to prove that you are the one that’s been picking off Lord Theoderek’s game. One of your blasted unique arrows and you’ll go into the stocks.”

Stiles kicked irritably at Erica’s nearby trunk, which did not move at all. Erica had bilauts and kirtles for every occasion. Stiles had tried to lift it once or twice but had given up after a few minutes. Even Lydia’s husband, Jordan, needed Scott’s help getting it moved from its place underneath Erica’s overlarge bed.

Stiles himself had few clothes, some rich tunics and luscious breeches made of softest deerskin, but he preferred his traditional garb of darkly dyed tunics and tight leather breeches. They moved quickly with him on hunts and walking in between the taverns, delivering Erica’s Brew. His fancier wear reminded him of times he’d rather not spend his days thinking about. 

“It isn’t as if,” he grumbled as he went back to Lydia’s hair, “I was doing it for sport. If Theoderek Hale were around, and saw how his people lived under that devil Peter, he’d not begrudge the meat I’ve provided them.” Plus, they paid him back in kindness and small things, like leftover dyes for his arrows and newly mended tunics. Stiles only could passably sew and his sisters simply refused to help him. Stiles felt as if a conspiracy was afoot and Scott was the only person in the household that could do it, but had no time as the main miller of the farm.

“That’s neither here nor there, Stiles.” Lydia sighed as Stiles pulled out dainty curls to frame her face. Lydia knew as well as Stiles did that they would pry his bow from his cold, dead hands. He had almost broken Malia’s arm when she went to grab it once while Stiles was sleeping. It had been a messy day after that.

“Besides, the Sheriff won’t find any proof. I never miss, so it isn’t as if he will ever get a hold of one of my arrows.”

“But yours are so unique.”

Stiles pulled Lydia’s hair a little tighter. “The only reason the sheriff even bothered to come by today is that Melissa dropped by and Boyd is in love with Erica.” Boyd, one of the Sheriff’s new deputies, was quite a strange choice in deputy, but he was good at his job, understood to keep his mouth shut about Stiles, and loved visiting the millhouse. 

Melissa had been the children’s nursemaid. It had been rumored that she was actually Scott’s mother, as no one had seen the miller’s first wife, but Stiles had no opinion. His father had gone through three wives. His first, Scott’s mother, was gone by the time he returned home from London to inherit his father’s mill. His second wife, Lydia’s mother, passed on in childbirth. Malia, Stiles, and Erica all had the same mother, but she caught an illness visiting her family in Bath and had passed on when they were all very young. Melissa had been a mother to all of them, although she let Lydia and Erica’s vanity run a little wild, she kept a good household. As they all got older she visited less and less, traveling to where other families needed her. She still visited once a week, though, and the sheriff always knew what day she would be coming in.

They were both still youthful, and the Sheriff was biding his time with his grouchy mother. Once she left the earth, at whatever wild age she was, he would be free to openly court Melissa and stop bothering the millhouse once a week.

“Be that as it may, Monsieur Hale has noticed that another one of the earl’s stags has gone missing and has dutifully put our sheriff on the job.”

“It hasn’t gone missing at all,” Stiles responded cheekily, “it hasn’t even left the land. The stag is where it always has been, on the properties of Stephensgate Manor. It just so happens that is has been laid to rest in some of the stomachs of Lord Theoderek’s serfs.”

Stiles was obviously self-satisfied, and once he was done, she loosened another few tendrils to frame her face. “Well I can at least tell Scott I tried.”

Stiles patted her shoulder consolingly. “Poor Lydia, I’m so sorry to cause you such trouble for you and your lovely … Jordan.” Lydia snorted at this remark. Stiles and Jordan had a friendly camaraderie that made sense only to them. “I do promise you I’ll never get caught. I know Jordan would love to have a good reason to flay my hide, and I never intend to give him such a reason.”

“That will be the day.” Lydia said, standing up from her perch. “Now we have to go downstairs and you should try to say all of that to Scott with a straight face.”

“Scott?” Stiles let out a soft groan. “Why isn’t he at the mill? It is such a strange time of day for him to be home.”

“He would be there,” Lydia barked as she pushed Stiles towards the doorway, “if you stopped courting the stocks with your idiocy. When the sheriff comes knocking at your door, you best be there to answer it. Allison is here, and I do believe they have something to tell all of us.”

Stiles gasped in mock shock. Unlike the rest of his siblings, weddings and especially babies were the furthest thing from his interest. He had known as soon as Allison had taken to skirts that Scott had taking a shining to Allison. It was not appropriate to say so, with Allison so young, but since she had recently turned the corner of ten and nine, it was not a surprise. However, it was a shock that her father Christopher had given his seal of approval. “After all of this time?”

Scott had begun to court Allison when she had been a week’s shy of ten and eight. Over a year and Christopher still looked down his nose at them because he was the mayor of the town.

“Yes, forsooth, and she was not happy to see the sheriff of the town lingering in her new foyer. She knows that you can be a little bit of trouble, Stiles, but I don’t think she wanted to announce her engagement with a bunch of lawmen lying about the house.”

Stiles, in his delight, skipped down the stairs in front of his sister and hopped over the last two steps to greet Allison. “Scott, how could you not tell me of this glorious happening?”

Scott groaned from the middle of a crowd of family members and well-wishers. Tanner from his time at the mill and a tad shorter than his youngest sibling, Scott put his brother in a well-meaning headlock and then ruffled his hair. 

“Let me go.” Stiles groaned at his much stronger brother. If he hadn’t proof that they had the same sire, it would be as if they were just two good friends larking about. “What was that for?” Stiles rearranged his hair as Scott let him go.

“For the stag, Stiles.” Scott sounded a bit more ill-tempered than he was usually, which meant he was actually mad. “If I have to lie for you one more time …”

“You won’t!” Stiles exclaimed, causing laughter.

“If I have to lie – badly, I must admit – if I have to lie to that poor sheriff one more time, I’ll lock you in the stockades myself and then make you clean all of the sties on the property by yourself for a month.” Animal husbandry was more of Erica’s style and Stiles loathed it with every fiber of his being. Even Lydia was better at it than he was. 

“Fie on you, Scott.” Stiles pouted. “You can’t prove it was me that shot that stag more than the sheriff or even Peter Hale himself can. I was going to tell Allison how happy I am that there is someone else in the house that is finally interested in what I enjoy, and how lucky we are to have her in the family, but it looks like you would rather me go ask the sheriff to put me in the stocks during this little … party.” Stiles had always had a temper that evened out his older brother’s easygoing nature. Sometimes his sisters liked to joke that Stiles was the older one, and Scott the younger, due to how easily Scott followed Stiles’ commands.

“We shouldn’t let anger mar this happy and special day …” He turned to Allison for support.

“Nay, we should not.” Allison agreed, taking his arm.

“So I am forgiven?” Stiles batted his eyelashes coquettishly, much to the laughter of the whole party. He even saw Jackson hold back a smile at his joke.

Scott slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Just this one last time.” 

It was what Scott always said. 

Stiles, in his excitement, picked Allison up and whooped. “What an absolutely glorious day, m’dear, for you to be joining our family.”

A ‘hear hear’ rose up from the crowd that was gathered. It truly was a blessing that Allison’s father had given them to go-ahead. Scott was the head of a large family, one that indicated that he would have many children. Their father’s track record showed that he himself may have many wives. It was foreboding to many, but Allison seemed to have taken it in stride.

Stiles, too, walked on uneven ground with some of the town still. Stiles, with his strange ways, had many qualities about him that made people shy away still. His outlaw ways, his manner of dress that many deemed inappropriate, his constant contact with the sheriff … Many still held against him his debacle of a marriage, one he did not want and put in the back of his mind as he lowered his sister-in-law to be to the ground and went to help Erica out.

Stiles felt less uneasy when he approached the ale dispensery and found all of his sisters gathered around it. Stiles was not the only one with a reputation in the family. Scott, at five and twenty, with his slack jaw, was known to have a way with animals around. Then came Lydia, at three and twenty, she was fierce redhead that many called a carbon copy of their father’s second wife. With her fiery red hair and her quick wit she had married the tanner on her eighteenth name day. Scott had only approved the day before.

Malia, the oldest of the third wife’s children, was a year and two months younger than Lydia. She had a brief courtship with the local blacksmith, who none of her siblings liked, and had two children with him already. They both took after their mother, who worked in the smithy along with her husband. Wild dark hair with sun streaks, she and her husband Ennis were a force onto themselves.

Then there was Erica, the youngest daughter. Erica had been a meek and frail child, always sick, until she hit her thirteenth name day and had blossomed into a beauty. Some considered her as beautiful as Lydia. She was oft gussied up with her many trinkets. She was fond of buying things that people who wandered in and wandered out made, small pieces of jewelry or fantastical pieces of cloth. Stiles oft wondered how she afforded such things, but Erica made herself useful in many ways.

Stiles, the last in line, had absorbed both his mother’s personality and her looks. From what he understood, his long limbs and his dark hair came heavily from her, with the smattering of moles matched the ones that dotted her face. He and Malia looked similar at points, but both she and Erica had a look that resembled Lydia or Scott at certain angles. Stiles was heavily his own person. 

“I cannot believe I shall have another sister. Soon you will all run me out of the house and I shall have to go live in the bachelor’s cottage with Boyd.” With Erica having only passing fancies and such, Stiles felt as if he truly was going to be pushed to go live with Boyd. The deputy who would probably prefer living with Erica. 

Stiles sighed as his married sisters rolled their eyes and headed towards their husbands. He turned to make a comment to his unwed sister, but she had disappeared into the kitchen. Stiles went in search of his favorite sister and found her weeping by the kitchen fire.

“Erica, what is wrong?” He slid to the floor, trying to pry her hands from her eyes. “Is it your stomach again? Your head? Should I fetch you a tonic?” Erica had always been babied due to her ill nature as a child, and the fact that her closest sibling was independent and strong had always made her quickly disposed to moods. This meant that Stiles himself was easily swayed by his closest sibling’s moods. “Erica, sweetheart, what is wrong? Does Allison being here truly upset you that much?” From what Stiles had assumed, Erica had always adored Allison. 

“Oh, Stiles, if only I could tell you.” She choked out between her sobs. 

Erica also had the tendency to be overly dramatic.

“Well nothing is stopping you, dear sister. You can tell me anything.”

Erica looked up, then went back down to the floor. “Not this, I am so … terribly ashamed.”

Stiles had only heard Erica say that word once or twice before ever. In fact, the last time he had heard her say it is when she had eaten the last piece of pie from his name day celebration three years ago. For all of her follies, Erica truly was the golden child. “You? What have you, one of the most gentile of God’s creatures, to be ashamed of? Do you think you have nothing to wear to the wedding?”

“I wish it were that simple, littlest.” Erica sighed again. “You’re going to despise me when I tell you.”

“Despise you? I could never despise you.”

“I’m late.” She blurted out, then went back to her tears.

“Late? No, you live here, you were quite on time. I was the one who was – oh. Oh!” Stiles was not a woman but he did know of such things. “You mean you are _late_ in the feminine way?”

She sighed in a strangely beautiful way, then nodded.

“You’re in the family way?”

She nodded again.

“Well, who the hell did such a thing?” And when in God’s name did they find the time, Stiles wondered to himself. Erica was always busy with one thing or another.

“You’ll think me foolish.”

“I cannot lie, I may find it amusing for a moment or two, but you I love the most. Tell me.”

“Promise you won’t kill him!” She thrust out her pinky, as if they were young children again. “Promise me.” Stiles rolled his eyes but complied. “It is Jackson.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. That pretty troubadour boy who played (quite poorly in Stiles’ opinion) and had strolled into town around Michaelmas and had never left. Stiles knew he kept the company of Julia Hale as well. Though Erica and Julia were friends of a sort, if Julia heard about this she would marry Jackson up in a minute. “That pretty boy.” Stiles grumbled as he stood up. “He better not be shacked up cozily at that manor when I find him. If I do find him there he’ll be liable to lose a few teeth in the process.

“Stiles!” Erica shrieked. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“And who would you have gone to, Scott?” Erica paled at the suggestion. “You know as well as I that I would do only light damage.” Scott, with his miller arms, could probably pummel Jackson to bits, no matter how strong Jackson looked. “At least he is unmarried.” He raised an eyebrow at Erica, who nodded seriously. “Now I really will be going to live with Boyd. How soon will you be married?”

“Therein lies another problem.”

“Do you not love him?”

“No, I do, quite desperately. It is only just …my dowry.”

Shit. The one thing Stiles hadn’t had to worry about: a dowry. Being a male he was either going to marry someone very poor or … well the other option was just too dreadful to think about. Erica, however, did have to worry about it. Scott paid so much more attention to Stiles than he did to Erica, which meant her spending on trinkets and tokens might have gotten out of hand. “You didn’t!”

“All of the lovely pieces that float into town, how can I not? I have attended four weddings in two years,” she had also attended the local inkeeper’s wedding to Greenburg, ugh, “plus I had already bought one for Scott and Allison’s wedding. I never intended to have this happen. I was hoping I could get it all back in money from the ale this winter and no one would know!”

“Yet here we are.” Stiles sighed. “So Jackson himself comes from no money?” He could still put out hope that this … troubadour guise was merely a passing folly to some rich lad.

“No, he just has his rebec and his donkey, Kate.” Stiles groaned. Another thing to truly loathe about Jackson. He wasn’t sure of what he hated more – Jackson or his blasted donkey. Kate seemed to find Stiles at the most inopportune moments and bite him in the most unflattering places. She had almost got him in his unmentionables the week before. Maybe if Jackson settled down at the millhouse, the donkey could be let out to pasture and mysteriously disappear … “Don’t have that look on your face, Stiles! You know Scott will never let me marry him. He doesn’t even own more three changes of clothing. Julia loans him Peter’s castoffs for when he performs at the Inn or at the manor. He doesn’t even own a home for us to live in …” Erica trailed off, looking forlornly out the window.

Why couldn’t she have picked someone easy, like Boyd? Scott would probably carry her to Boyd’s hut right now if he had gotten her with child. Erica, in all her stubborn pride and naiveté, had to pick the worst possible choice. And in what sibling to tell too! Lydia would have a plan by now, Malia his head. Stiles just slumped onto the stool next to her. He did not envy his sisters, who seemed to love. Looking at Erica, it seemed to be very painful. 

“You haven’t any money left over from your ale, Erica?” Stiles asked one last time.

She turned to him, red faced, her golden curls falling into her eyes. “The merchant last week with the wonderful combs ….”

Stiles wanted to throw himself out of the window. “So you have no dowry and no money to make ale for the summer?” Stiles knew that his albeit small profits could help but Erica would never accept it. She would cry over the injustice of it all.

“A maiden cannot always be thinking of beer, Stiles!” She screeched. 

Stiles snorted, a crueler sound than he had used with his eldest sister. “But you are no longer a maiden, Erica. Soon you’ll be a mother and you have absolutely no way to support it! You cannot expect to live here always,” as Stiles probably would, “especially not with a child. Scott will be newly married by the time the babe gets here and he will have no time to deal with such trifles. He and Allison will probably be looking forward to having some younglings of their own, not looking after you and that … loon of a man’s spawn.”

“Oh and you’re one to talk, Stiles!” Erica burst into another fresh set of tears. He had never seen anyone cry so much. “You were married one single night before returning here –“

“I returned a widower, if you recall. I returned here a widower on my wedding night.”

“Well luck for you, then. Not as if you loved her overmuch anyway. You were so afraid of her, one could even say you hated her.” Erica spit out venomously.

Stiles kicked the stool he sat on away and was headed out back to brush his horse in peace when Erica grabbed his leg. “Oh, Stiles, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, I meant not what I said. I am just so upset and I don’t know how to get anything done and I’m taking out my frustrations on you. Please don’t go. I need your help so much.” Stiles sighed and shook her off, then sat down cross legged in front of her. “Julia said that she’s heard of a custom that could work, but you’re so clever and I just simply could not pull it off in this state.”

Stiles was only half listening, his attention drifting to the idea of another cup of ale before bed, maybe sleeping out in the haystacks so he wouldn’t have to listen to Erica’s sobs from his much tinier bed …

“But you could do it, Stiles! You’re so much braver than I am. You aren’t afraid of anything. And it wouldn’t be anything different from trapping deer or rabbits, I’m sure of it!” She grabbed his arm enthusiastically. 

“Do what?” Stiles said, snapping back to the here and now.

“Oh, say you’ll help me, brother! Please?” She pouted so beautiful, God bless it.

“With what?”

“Promise before.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine, tell me this amazing idea so we can be on our way back out to the party that is not about either of us.”

“Well, there is this custom of a maiden capturing a wandering knight and holding him for ransom. His family pays the amount we need, we let him go and I’m in the clear!”

“And I?”

Erica gushed, “Well you’re going to capture him of course!”

Stiles looked at his sister as if she had been born simple. “Erica, you realize that you and I have one thing that slightly differs …”

“But it shouldn’t matter! You capture him, bring him home, we explain the situation lightly and then he is free to go when he pays.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “If I get arrested for this …”

“I’ll gladly take the blame!” She knocked him full over onto the floor in her glee. “Thank you so much.”

\--

Lord Theoderek Hale, or Derek for short, had spent the last ten years fighting for the cause of his country in the Holy Land. That meant nothing to him, however, as he was surely far from holy. As out to be illustrated now, as he and his squire fled an inn where Derek had bedded the innkeeper’s wife and had refused his demand for recompense. Instead he had stomped out of the inn after paying for the room and had kicked his precious steed into gear.

Ten years ago he had done the same thing after his parents were sick of his rowdy behavior and decided to secede the land to his older sister Laura first. His options had been the war or the monastery. 

Derek would have lasted a grand total of ten minutes as a monk. Mostly because he preferred either gender. In the Holy Land he had seen the most pious of men and women turn their heads as he walked by. Of course, he spent much of his time around the rabble rousers in Acre, the area he had been stationed, and they had provided such promising distractions. The young and vain of both gender had taken to shaving their most private parts but had no need of Derek to shave any of his … well … anything.

Being captured by the Muslim army was clearly not in his plans. By the time he had his ransom paid by the Crown he was ready to get out of there. He was ready to see the green of England, the rains falling softly onto his skin, the bucks that roamed his father’s land.

But being led by his smaller head had him and his annoying young squire Matthew going over back trails and through fields of cows and grain to get back to Stephensgate. Derek wasn’t afraid to fight the innkeeper whose wife had so easily seduced him, but Derek was just purely sick of fighting. So he and Matthew slept outside and rejected all signs of civilization until he got home.

He had given up on having Matthew as a good companion half a day after they started their backwoods journey. If Derek hadn’t promised Matthew’s late father that he would watch after the nosy teen, he would have gladly left him back in London with his featherbed and his mother. But he trudged on with Matthew’s complaining for a good six days before spying the markings to the smaller town of Leesbury. He doubted that the disgruntled innkeeper had come out this far and their supplies were dwindling. 

Matthew cheered at the idea of a bed and a hot meal, and after a scolding to his squire to not call him ‘my lord’ in public – in case they were still being chased or in case of a man with light fingers, they entered the stables of the Fox and Hare. Derek winked and slipped the stable boy a gold noble for a silent promise of good care for their mounts.

They slipped inside the inn and everyone went silent. While visitors were probably not sparse, Derek was obviously different. No one recognized him but it was clear from Derek’s tan skin, thickly bearded face and his long hair in a low bun that he came from the Holy Land. He saw the innkeeper’s eyes widen.

“Good afternoon, sir, would you like to refresh yourselves with a tankard of the county’s finest ale?” Derek nodded graciously and slid into a chair, gesturing for Matthew to sit.

Their drinks arrived with the normal pleasantries, an agreement for two rooms and orders for food. Matthew seemed entertained by the young man playing the lute in the corner and had relaxed easily into the setting. Derek, however, scanned the crowd before settling in.The fare of the main room held the normal people in this sort of inn. The slatterns that probably had rooms on tab at this place, a few ruddy faced men clearly between going home to their wives, a couple of sly looking men who were probably up to no good. Nobody particularly strange.

Until, after he had taken his second mug of ale, he noticed a slight little man walking in. His leather chausses were a tad too tight for normal wear, hugging his backside like a second skin, and his India Ink stained shirt was open to the nipple line. His hair was wild and he had a quiver and bow on his back. Derek figured it was a new local that had popped up. No one gazed longingly at that tantalizing backside, nor commented on the improper wear of the shirt. He didn’t rattle the slatterns, so he was clearly not their male counterpart. 

Derek was intrigued. When he leaned back to have another sip of ale, he was surprised to find Matthew staring as well. “What is he wearing?” Derek merely shrugged and went back to his ale, knowing that not responding would irk Matthew more than life itself. 

Derek looked back up and found unerring whiskey colored eyes locked on him. He raised an eyebrow at the younger man, who rolled his eyes and went over to talk softly to the slatterns.

It seemed that this boy was a local as he weaved through the tables. He shook hands with – was that a woman – sitting at a table with the ruddy faced men and slapped the biggest of the lot on the back. He then drifted over to one of the slimier chaps and was engaged in a lively conversation when the innkeeper came back their way.

“Sir, may I enquire who that young lad is?” Derek gestured with his eyes.

“That is Stiles, the younger of the miller’s sons. Finest shot in all of Shropshire.” He said this with a hint of pride. 

Derek was unhappy with this answer, but accepted it all the same. He slipped the innkeeper a pure golden piece to thank him for his time. He felt a burning on his neck again and signaled to Matthew. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

“We just got here!” Matthew cried. Derek once again wished that he could have just left the daft child in London, but here they were. Matthew knew nothing of calling undue attention to yourself and couldn’t care less probably. 

Derek glided again towards the door, assuming Matthew would follow shortly. 

“Oh sir,” a slurred voice called out, “you forgetting something?”

Derek knew what he would see when he turned around. Two pickpockets, both in various states of grotesqueness, held Matthew at knifepoint. They had probably been sitting directly behind Derek and had seen the gold piece and figured they’d clean him out for Matthew. 

Derek sighed internally but went for the hilt of his sword all the same. Matthew was his squire. “Let him go, gentlemen.”

“La, Dick, I think the man thinks we’ll give him back his little butler for free.”

“I hear ya, Tom, but I do not think we shall,” replied the one who hadn’t spoken directly to Derek. “Toss us your coin purse and we’ll let you have the little boy go.” Dick squeezed his squire’s throat tight, and Matthew went a little blue.

“I’m not worth it, sir. Go on ahead.”

Always the dramatics with this one. As Derek began to unsheathe his sword, an arrow sung by his ear and pinned Tom and his free hand to the back of the inn. “Gentlemen,” came a strangely deep voice, “I suggest you let him go.”

Dick groaned. “Stiles, laddie mine, you never let us have any fun. I’m sure this one,” he squeezed Matthew, “would put up a good fight.”

Derek turned to find Stiles standing five paces behind him, another arrow notched in his bow. “And I know that if I loose this arrow the Sheriff will not put me away and you will be as dead as a doornail, with your friend in the stockades until he begs to go to the prison house.”

Dick sighed and let go of Matthew, pushing him forward towards his master. “Not worth going up against you, little Sheriff.” Stiles relaxed his bow and, in a fit of pique to Derek’s eye, stuck his tongue out at the rogue. This relaxed his face and made him seem scant ten and eight, a handsome fellow by any means. 

Stiles stalked briskly past Derek and pulled the arrow cleanly out of Tom’s hand, tsking at something and then settling it back in his quiver. He then gestured his head towards the door. “You know the drill.”

“You’ll never be let back in again!” The innkeeper called from behind his bar. Derek looked down at Matthew, who looked just a little bruised, and then back up. Quicker than a lightning flash, Stiles was out of the door, a hooded cloak from the rack covering his slight frame.

Derek was intrigued.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An adventure to the local Spring finds Derek in Stiles' clutches, whether Stiles wants him there or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my edit from last night said, I DIDN'T MEAN FOR IT TO BE A ONESHOT. I am still such an LJ girl at heart and I forgot to click the 'multi-chaptered' button.
> 
> AO3 confuses me after over a year. Whoops.
> 
> Anyway, I am still blatantly ripping off Meg Cabot. I have changed quite a few parts because I am lazy and some of it is repetitive and out of character for these two but the premise is the same. If you like this, read the book, etc, etc. Don't sue me Meg.
> 
> This is also why this story is updated so quickly, because it is thinking but not totally brand new and creative like I try to be. 
> 
> I am still brainstorming a sequel to 'The Story of Us' and I am totally considering a one-shot epilogue to 'Catfish'.
> 
> Of course, please leave me comments/feedback! I love hearing from you all. Love and light from me to you. <3

Stiles knew what he had to do. He was not happy about it but the plan had fallen so easily into place. He had chosen a quarry, protected from being had by another, and would lay his trap. He felt quite off about it, but it needed to be done. He was getting angrier by the minute – whether at himself for agreeing to this charade, or at Erica for convincing him to do something so stupid. 

There had been no indicators at the inn that the man with the long hair and the tan skin was even interested in males. He already kept the company of another younger man. Though at how he did not even jump to save the youth, it might just be his squire or a younger son. He had no read on how old the knight errant had even been and since there were no known nights from Stephensgate, his home, it was clear he was from beyond the town. A total stranger.

Whether this made it better or worse was up for debate. A total stranger in Stephensgate would cause a stir, but then it wouldn’t cause any repercussions for him, Erica, or Scott.

Stiles groaned softly. If Scott heard of this cockamamie scheme, and he was sure to hear of it when Stiles brought this man – but hopefully not his annoying companion – home with him, Stiles would be in for the fight of his life. Scott was not very violent but he would wallop Stiles roughly across the head and make him sleep out in the barn for weeks. Stiles wasn’t afraid of that sort of punishment, per se, but he was sure not welcoming of it. Even with it going flawlessly and Erica ransoming it, the Crais family were still going to be critiqued. They had operated the Earl of Stephensgate’s mill for generations and were held in high esteem by most of the elders in the town. It would be a damning blow against his family and the little of his own reputation he had if this got out.

And now that he was removed from the situation, the statement that Erica had made about “all of the maids in Stephensgate” had done it made no sense. His older sisters had found love by themselves, as had Allison. None of the maids in Stephensgate – except one, but was she a maid? – had mind of Stiles himself, but all of them seemed to like ribbons and babies, things that did not entice Stiles at all. Another added negative of this was that the church disapproved. He could see Deaton peering over the pulpit, his glare seemingly focused on everyone and Stiles at once.

He should just declare himself a pagan now to avoid Deaton ever again.

He had argued that Deaton cared quite a bit, but Erica had shot back that he himself sought comforts of the flesh with Morrell, the town’s woman of the night. Though Deaton did find a sick pleasure in giving Stiles riddles about how to face the Lord’s work, he did his best with a poor parish and a manor that held a man with little principles and inhabitants that would rather spend their Sundays sleeping. When they had to attend, the serfs just slept through his sermons.

When Stiles had truly agreed, Erica said that he had to capture a relative stranger. Relative was a good word, because apparently Julia had captured all of the men from the towns to the east of them. That mean any men from Shrewsbury and Dorchester wouldn’t pay a second time and Stiles might end up having to marry the poor sap and get him a job at the mill to get rid of him. So he needed someone from Caterbury or even further north. Which was a task in itself.

Everyone sounded the same to him.

He had ended up in Leesbury, where they knew him. They were Erica’s number one buyer for her ales, but the man who owned the inn had oft tried to pawn off his twins on both Stiles and Erica. However, this kept him friendly toward Stiles. He had only seen the locals go in and out of the inn as he watched from a seamstress from across the street until he saw the total stranger. 

He had been hesitant in his entry, but this total stranger from the inn, with the dark hair and his deep tan, had clearly never been kidnapped before. Or at least around here. It was obvious Julia had never done so because she would have kept this dark knight in the manor house for herself. He seemed a quiet sort, though, not speaking to his companion as he drank and ate while Stiles socialized. One of the slatterns, Harley, said that both men had admired his figure. That was a positive at least. The other, the newer one that Stiles hadn’t been able to catch the name of yet, said that many men at the inn had also stared.

Most of them already knew of Stiles’ reputation though, and while he drew eyes the people that knew him also knew that he was not interested in marriage. He was interested in fletching and trapping and teaching Malia’s elder son how to shoot soon. He had no need for a ceremony and a husband who would try to stop him from hunting and generally larking about.

When he had seen the twins’ father stare at the golden coin that he had been given by the stranger, that was when he decided to make his move. He easily stopped Dick and Tom from messing with her prey and let them off without going and corralling them until the sheriff around these parts could lock them up. He had no doubt that he would notice and take them to the stockade in the morning as he usually did. Stiles was not one for killing, but the thrill of following, figuring out and then trapping his prey. Oft times when he caught something he would just let it go. There was one fox, a creature he could not bear to kill, that he had a game of tag with. The fox had stopped trying to eat the chickens, but instead lure Stiles out and have him run around after the vermin like a crazy person. He loved their time together.

After the two men had left the inn, Stiles had then quietly stalked the man and his protégée for a few miles of backroads before he realized that the man was laying low. He clearly knew the lands that he was on as well, which boded well for Stiles. Dressed plainly, the elder hid many things about him, his cloak untrimmed, his tunic plain, nothing besides his beautiful horse giving any detail about him. His younger counterpart was a bit dressier, but that could mean anything. When the stranger settled down to sleep, he knew for a fact that the man at one point had been local.

It meant that he knew where the stranger would be headed. 

Anyone who had ever lived in Shropshire, Stephensgate or the surrounding areas knew of the Spring of Saint Elias. Stiles knew of it well, for it had caused one of the biggest incidents in his life. However, it was so beautiful that even Stiles had given up his distaste for it not three weeks after and had splashed around in it with Erica.

He knew the man would go there, and so with his precious horse Blueberry, he turned his collar and headed there with speed to lay a trap.

\--

Derek was unsure about how much longer he could take Matthew and his incessant whining. First about how his horse was a tad weaker than Derek’s and how it needed a rest, then about Matthew himself and a sprained kneecap that couldn’t handle riding for longer than five hours at a time. Derek had picked out Matthew’s horse himself, so he knew the beast could easily handle the ride. This was the first time ever in their travels tat Matthew had brought up the kneecap. Derek knew that stopping in Leesbury had been a mistake because now Matthew thought that he could convince Derek to stop whenever.

“My lord,” Derek hated that title sometimes, “My lord, if we could please stop so the horse and I can both clear our joints of pain? We haven’t a bite to eat since Leesbury and I’m near faint with hunger …”

Derek rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Matthew loved food, talking or himself the most. He hoped never to learn.

“There’s bread and bacon in your pack . Gnaw on that for a while.” And while you do it, please chew with your mouth closed so my poor ears can have a break, he added silently. He was trying to be kind with the dimwit, but it did not seem to be working.

Luckily for the both of them they were heading into familiar territory. There was the grove that Derek had bagged his first stag in not fifteen years ago, there where he had met a maiden for a bedding not two years after. It was good to see such familiar sights.

Which was when they came to turn onto the sheep track that lead to the rock formation that lead to the Spring of St. Elias. The one place that he and Laura enjoyed the most as children up into their adult years. They oft came here after they hunted, splashing around until Peter would appear from God knows where and tell them to start the trek back to the inn they stayed at or even the path home. It was a good two day ride from home but it was a nice reminder. It was the edge of his land.

The Spring was technically a property of the church but had fallen out of favor about fifty years back, when the Saint wasn’t as prioritized. The pool was beyond what it had originally been intended as and was desolately gorgeous. It had wildflowers of every color, long, lovely trees whose low hanging branches kissed the pool of water gathered at the bottom of the spring.

It was a perfect place to take a dip after a long and hot ride, and Derek felt pleasure that when he told Matthew, the boy groaned about stopping. 

“I’m a city lad, I can’t even swim!” He groaned as he dismounted.

“Then take a nap under the branches or something.” Derek preferred to swim nude anyways, so it would be easier to not have to been by his squire in his altogether. Derek grabbed his near empty water flask and turned to his squire, who seemed put out. “Or if you’d rather rub down the horses.” Which is your job, Derek added to himself again. He had work cut out for him when they reached Stephensgate.

Matthew’s eyes widened. “I think a nap would be a better idea.” Matthew said, and Derek merely nodded as he took off through the high grass towards the spring, stripping himself of his tunic along the way. Matthew knew how to picket horses and watch them, so he had no fear that they wouldn’t go anywhere. The horses would allow Matthew to picket them, but beyond that his loving horse, Cam, would probably not allow anything else.

Heedless of the branches and twigs he cracked as he strode towards the pond, he admired the way the sun was falling through the leaves, leaving everything in soft golds and almost painting like. He listened to the birds call at one another, the roar of the water from the spring and shouts from Matthew, behind him. He had probably attempted to touch his precious horse and had gotten bit, now attempting to screech after Derek. Matthew had nay an adventurous bone in his body, so Derek doubted he’d get far in the woods.

As Derek reached the peak of the spring, he looked down and saw that his memory held but a candle to the true beauty of the spring. Maybe it was perhaps that he had been gone such a long time, but every part of him loved looking on the small pieces of England that he had missed. The water was still clear, the flowers just starting to bloom, the rocks easy to walk upon. 

It also held the sweetest, purest water Derek had ever tasted. Here, at the root of the spring, was the best place to catch it before it tumbled down into the pool. He knew many a person and creature used the pool to bathe. It wasn’t as clean as this water was. He made sure his water flask was empty and spent a few minutes watching it fill up, inhaling the whole flask and filling it up again. He then took his tunic and washed it – it was his favorite – and laid it out on a long, flat rock to dry.

Turning back to the pool below, he then noticed a flash of color that did not belong about the tender pinks and reds of the wildflowers. Shortly shorn hair and pale flesh. He froze.

The boy from the inn last night. 

He knew the boy – Stiles – instantly, though he wore nothing. Indeed, his ivory flesh stood taut as he stretched out for a swim along the banks of the pool. He had small smatterings of what looked like beauty marks along his back, his arms with some muscle, but not as much as Derek’s; his waist was trim and his backside was rounder out of those insanely tight pants then they were in.

After his stretches, Stiles looked around twice more before he splashed like a duckling into the water, his face alight with joy. Admittedly it did look quite silly but Derek liked that. He wasn’t afraid to make a fool of himself, or to express his feelings about doing something. Derek let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and wanted to laugh, genuinely. It was so sweet.

Derek knew himself to be guarded, especially after being pretty much thrown into the army without a second thought by his family. His mother’s letters hadn’t helped. When his parents had died and left it to Laura he had sworn he’d rather die in the Holy Land than go home, and so he had shipped himself voluntarily off to Jerusalem, to the king’s crazy crusade.

He knew that Stiles would probably flee if he saw Derek. To credit Stiles looks, he didn’t look to be someone who worked overhard. Thinking back to the innkeeper’s words, he knew Stiles was a good shot. Maybe he made his living off of competitions, shooting targets and laughing when he beat full grown knights. He clearly did not work in a field or a smithy – his muscles too lithe for such. He had also been touted as the youngest child. So where were his siblings? Surely he couldn’t be out here by himself, no siblings to supervise. Or a parent at least. Who let their youngest gallivant out on a hunt alone?

Though Stiles had shown last night he could clearly take on men by himself, even Derek disliked traveling by himself. So many slippery characters were about nowadays, being alone and attacked was an option that happened quite frequently. As soon as Derek got home, he would approach Stiles’ family – their last name was Crais – and demand why their children were allowed to frolic around the countryside alone?

So lost was Derek in his own head that he had missed Stiles exiting the pool. He searched for him among the branches but saw no ivory among the fuchsias and burgundies. He leaned back against a rock, taking a swig from his flask. He assumed Stiles had either wandered away or was washing his dark brown hair underneath the spray. He wondered if the more chivalrous thing to do would wait for his shirt to dry and then slip away, or to make himself known and see if Stiles wished to make the rest of the journey with him and Matthew.

Lost in his thoughts of formal introduction, he didn’t hear the small drops of water upon the rocks that were behind him. He didn’t notice the light woosh of air – he didn’t notice anything until a nicely corded arm wrapped around his neck and pinned him to the rock. His head met a softer chest though and that was nice. Though he could easy whip his assaulter around with his arm and crack their skull, the smell of lavender that clung to the skin was tantalizing enough to allow this assault.

“Stay perfectly still.” Derek didn’t respond, and he was thrust up quickly, strong thighs encapturing his arms and clinging around his waist. He had felt many a leg wrapped there but never in this manner. He was relaxed enough and acquiesced to his captor’s demands.

However his captor seemed slightly nervous about him not reacting, so he moved one of his knees. He felt a blade come around his throat and he winced. “I told you not to move. I don’t want to use this but I will if I have to. If you do as I say, your head will stay attached to your body. Understood?”

Derek nodded and knocked his foot into his water flask that had fallen out of his hand in his assault. “I said leave it be.” He was mildly afraid of his attacker, but when he glanced down he saw a beauty mark.

Stiles. 

Perfect. 

“Pardon me, monsieur,” Stiles snorted behind him, “I did not mean to stumble upon your bath and I hope you’ll forgive me for doing such.” Hopefully that sounded contrite enough.

“I took you for slightly simple but not completely stupid. I meant for you to ‘stumble upon me’,” the amusement was clear in his voice, “and I have incapacitated your partner, so now it is simple. You are my prisoner now.” In his relaxed state, Derek had not anticipated this. The blade dropped somewhere behind him as his hands were neatly trussed up. As if he was a common criminal or a pig! “You’re my prisoner now. To gain your freedom you must pay. Handsomely.”

Derek was astonished by this statement. “What?” He felt his sword unhook from his belt and a slim hand nick Derek’s dagger from the inside of his boot.

“You heard me.” Stiles said as he urged Derek up. “You’re my prisoner. Well, technically you’re my sister Erica’s prisoner,” Derek was even more confused now, “but either way, you’re coming with me. Your boy too, but I knocked him out half an hour past and I don’t really feel like waking him up. I tied him to a tree.”

Derek snorted. A better idea than Derek had ever had. “You should just leave him there. He has a map to the house, and a horse. Unless you intend on taking that too.”

“No, I brought my own horse around to yours before I slid into the pool.” Stiles was sly, Derek had to give it to the younger lad. “So we shall we just leave him there. He was quite annoying before I left him to sleep. I was just going to gag him but he was … loud. And not in a kind way. You’re much more agreeable.”

Derek took the compliment for what is was. He had said nothing since he realized the gravity of the situation. “So, the men at the inn, are you working with them and your sister?”

Derek felt a slap of dry fabric against his shoulder. His shirt. At least Stiles had given him that back.“La, no. The two of them are a pair of idiots that are put in the stockade every three weeks. I would have let you battle for your ignorant squire back, but I decided last night that you two were mine and I had no intention of letting them take your purse.”

“You mean to say that you saved me on purpose?” Derek was very confused about the people that lived on his lands. They had apparently turned to tomfoolery as a method of living.

“Sort of. “Stiles nudged him forward, towards the horses. “You happened upon a situation that I needed you, or someone like you, to solve. Plus Tom and Dick are idiots and I enjoy making the fool of them. I almost just ransomed the boy instead, but if he annoyed you as much as he annoyed me, I doubt you’d pay for him.”

He was perceptive, this Stiles. “And what makes you think that someone will pay for me?”

“I saw you slip Simon a real gold coin at the Fox and Hare. Someone will pay for you, especially since I’m leaving your boy here to run home for you.” They went through the brambles with relative ease, Stiles not even really looking hard at the way they were going. “Besides, if you had fallen to Dick and Tom, their friends aren’t as forgiving as I. Real unsavory companions. Truly it’s best that you’re coming back with me to the house.”

They reached the horses in no time, a blue roan hitched to a tree across from Cam and Wind, Matthew’s horse. Stiles tied Derek to the same tree, Stiles’ horse eyeing him, then went to inspect Matthew. As expected, he didn’t move when kicked, and Stiles laughed. Then Derek noticed Stiles was still in his altogether, which was supremely cocky. 

Cocks. Ha.

He figured out easily which horse was Derek’s and slid his sword into its holster, then stuck his dagger haphazardly in his saddle bag. He then unhitched the horse and tried to lead him over to Derek and his own horse. 

Instead Cam nipped him on the side. Albeit it was not the hardest that Derek had seen him bite someone, it still looked as if it hurt. Plus Stiles had no cloth protecting his skin, so the bite was already bruising. Stiles cursed a blue streak and glared at the horse, breaking into a trot and tying next to Stiles’ own horse. He then rubbed at the bruise, with no blood, then pulled the insane pair of leather chausses on, lacing them up quickly. He tugged on his tunic quickly, not bothering with lacing it, and turned to Derek.

“So I figure I might as well introduce myself.” Derek tried to act irritated and as if he did not already know a bit about Stiles. “I’m Stiles, Stiles Crais. I would shake your hand but,” Stiles indicated the tied hands. “I don’t trust you to not run off.”

“So, Stiles Crais, does your family allow you to run amock in the countryside? Won’t your father have your hide for it?” Derek tried to tease.

“My father died.”

“Is he? Then who looks after you?” That was quite sad.

“I look after myself, but technically it is my eldest sibling and other brother Scott. He tries to reign me in but he doesn’t do a good job with it.” Stiles beamed at Derek as if it was the best joke.

“I doubt it’s easy for him.”

“No, with my three sisters and his own nuptuals –‘

“You have three sisters? There are four more of you?” It would make sense for Stiles to be so slim if he was constantly around women who were watching their figure and his own. 

“My oldest two are married and my closest sister, Erica, well you’re her spoil.” Stiles realized he was rambling and pointed at Derek, “See here, I’m the interrogator! And you’re the prisoner!” He jabbed his arm forward into Derek’s chest. “Ow!” His hand grasped his side. 

“I can help you with that.” Derek said and merely laughed at the glare he got. 

“And what precisely is your name, sir?” Derek realized the error and panicked. He would surely be let free if he told Stiles that he was the Earl of the land that Stiles lived on. Stiles seemed more of a companion than Matthew ever was, Matthew could learn some manners by traveling alone and Stiles could get whatever money he needed out of Derek. Plus Stiles was no struggle to look at. “Your name, fair pilgrim.” Derek snorted. “It will not help you any to stall or to lie to me about your identity, as it will just make the price go up.”

“Lawrence. Lawrence Fitzwilliam.” Twas Matthew’s last name but it was all he could come up with. “But you can call me Bear. I’m a knight from Caterbury.”

Stiles nodded sagely, as if he was wise beyond his years. “Bear. An apt name for a man such as yourself.I can tell you’re coming from the Crusades,” he said, gesturing as if Derek had a long beard. “Were you imprisoned there?”

“In Acre. For a year.”

Stiles smiled cheerfully, which was not the reaction Derek was expecting. “Well, I’m certain your wife will be happy to pay for your freedom, now that you’re so close to home. And for your honesty, I won’t charge her overmuch.”

“No wife.” Derek responded. Stiles gave him a good, hard look, stopping at the bare muscles of his stomach, then up to his face.

“Husband?” An open minded chap. Derek liked that in a person.

“Not one of those either.”

“Lover? Father?”

“No and no. My father died a while back.”

Stiles sighed. “Well what am I going to do with you then? Do you have anyone to pay for you?” Derek nodded. “Well then I can just let Erica figure it out then.” Stiles turned quickly then groaned again.

“I can help you with that.” Derek said again, dumbly.

“Tis nothing, I promise you. Blueberry here has bit me before.” Blueberry looked like a mare though, and one very slim in comparison to his stallion. 

“Stiles,” what a peculiar name, “please show me. I give you my word as a knight,” Stiles scoffed, “as a human, on my father and mother’s grave, that I will not run off. I will play your game, trapped to this tree or my horse or not. I concede to you. Let me help!” Derek’s voice had raised considerably in his words.

Stiles’ face turned red. “Do not bellow at me, sir!” He spit the words at Derek. “I am not your serf or your bed partner,” though with this much passion Derek expected he might be an excellent one, “so do not bellow at me as if I am such!” Stiles looked ready to leave Derek there. 

“Look into my bag. The one on the right.” Stiles squinted, but deflated and did as he was told. “In the small pouch, there’s a garnet on a string.” Stiles pulled out the pouch and the beautiful gem easily. “Wear it. It is yours until we get to wherever you live and you get your fee. A sign of good faith. Take it and if I do slip off, it’ll be enough to pay for you and your sister’s escapade of whatever sort.”

“How did you –“

“Untie me.” Derek pitched his voice low and firm, like he did when he was left in command in the army. 

Stiles went to gesture at him again, but when his arm came up, he winced and realized that he had lost the battle. He dropped the silken string around his neck and walked to be right behind Derek. The younger boy sighed and went to his belt, pulling his own dagger and slicing neatly through the rope that held Derek together. Stiles’ head was at Derek’s own neck level, and he could smell the lavender from his own hair. 

“Show me,” he said, trying to sound kind enough for Stiles to listen. “Please.”

Stiles took his shirt off again quickly, causing another wince, and showed Derek. The bruise was almost black in color, his skin bruising like a piece of fruit. When Derek shook out his right wrist and went to touch it, Stiles flinched back.

“May I?”

“What do you know, attending to wounds?” Stiles said. It was if he was a little afraid of Derek.

“Which one of us has been to war?” Derek countered easily. Stiles sighed and motioned at Derek. 

Derek’s hands met the softest skin imagineable as he traced his horse’s bruise. Cam had bitten perilously close to Stiles’ ribcage, but feeling around, nothing was broken nor bleeding. 

“Does it hurt when you breathe?” Stiles nodded, his head turned away from Derek.

“A little. Is it my rib?”

“It is.”

“Is it broken?”

“I think not. But surely a youth of your stamina can handle such pain.” Derek enjoyed this banter.

Stiles dropped his shirt and attempted to step away from Derek. However Derek’s hands had a firm grip on Stiles’ other side in case he had tried to slither away. So Stiles was stuck underneath him.

“Do you mock me, sir?” It came out as indignant as a spoiled child being denied a sweet.

“A great hunter as yourself, taking down a man twice your berth? I should think not.”

“You will regret your words tonight, sir, when I feast on a roast rabbit and leave you without your weapons to forage for yourself.” 

“Ah, but it is the responsibility of the captor to make sure that their prisoner is well fed.” Stiles had merely raised one eyebrow in question, as if he felt Derek was jesting. “And even better, well bedded.” Stiles seemed the prudish type.

Stiles responded with a sickly sweet fake smile. “You’ll be well bedded alright. With the horses.”

Derek snorted. “Well at least let me bind your wound. I also have essence of poppy to help with the pain…”

Stiles snorted back. “What kind of fool do you take me for, Sir? A woman in my village took some and the whole village saw her naught four hours later skipping towards the well in her altogether.”

Derek wouldn’t mind seeing Stiles in his altogether again, though the younger seemed to have forgotten that Derek had already seen him. Maybe he saw it as a spoil of war and not as real nudity. Plus, if Stiles was this prudish about nudity, sex was clearly something that would cause Derek more strife than others. He never tussled with virgins. Ever. 

“I would never allow you to do that. Just enough for the pain.”

Stiles groaned but pushed at Derek’s hands. “Get to it then, my lord.” Derek paused for a moment, to see if Stiles had figured it out, but it seemed to be in jest.

Derek located the poppy as Stiles began to prattle again. “Fie, the sun is settling lower and lower in the west, and we must get on the road if we intend to get to Stephensgate by nightfall next – ‘

Derek offered the poppy, and after Stiles eyed it, he swallowed it down quickly enough. Derek was glad to be earning the younger’s trust so quickly. “And what, if I may ask, lies in Stephensgate?”

“My sister, who is the real person taking you ransom. Erica is one of my sisters and needs someone to ransom for … reasons.”

“And you would not ransom a man?”

“Firstly, it would not be cute nor in tradition, and secondly, I have easier and more reliable ways of making coin.” Stiles went to his horse and swung on. He let out a small groan of pain, which told Derek he could take his time in mounting his own steed.

“Like what?” Derek said as he approached his own horse. 

“I merely bag a deer or two and sell it at the local inn. There is always demand for venison and the Earl of Stephensgate, his forest is always full of game. Not, though, like I kill the earl’s game. Poaching is very wrong.”

Suddenly the reasoning for Stiles running away from the inn made sense. He was a good soul but enjoyed making his money where he could. “You must love your sister very much to do so.”

Stiles nodded as Derek checked his saddlebags to see if the still-out Matthew had taken anything before they moved. “Yes and she’s run into some trouble. She makes the finest beer around and” Derek laughed. “You won’t be laughing when you taste her ale.”

“Will I even taste it?”

“I’ll give you a tankard or two before we turn you loose, don’t worry.”

“But why does she need a man such as me?” Derek inquired, hoping to keep Stiles distracted enough that he would allow Derek to eat a scrap of bread before they moved again.

“I promised her in a moment of weakness. Our oldest, Scott, is getting married to the mayor’s daughter and she used my distraction to promise to do this for her. Twill the be wedding of the years, unless Allison asks that vagrant Jackson to play his lute …” Stiles looked away, as if he could see someone. “Anyways, I made a promise and here I am. You made a promise and are now stuck with me as we head home. However,” Stiles lowered his voice, “I hope you take into account that I would have never actually hurt you. That was all for show.” Stiles grimaced. “Well, not the stuff with Matthew.”

Derek chuckled as he leaned over to check his tack. “I only have one more question.” He looked up at Stiles, who shrugged amiably. “How did you know I’d be bathing there?”

Stiles turned a stout red. “I followed you and your squire after you left the in and you knew your way around. If you were local, I knew you’d return to the spring. Anyone who knows of it cannot hesitate to return. And besides … you look like someone I knew, and we met there, though not by knifepoint.” Stiles was embarrassed by such line of questioning and quickly changed the subject. “So we must be going.”

Derek moved to the other side of the horse. “Yes we shall.”

“Oh bother.” Stiles dismounted carefully from his own horse, untied her and then got behind Derek. As the lord stood up, Stiles began to bind his hands again.

“What are you doing?” Derek demanded.

“Binding you for our journey. Though I have a token of you not running off at night, I cannot risk you riding away on your trusty horse while my back is turned. Surely you can understand that.”

“And where will you ride?” Derek asked. Stiles was much slimmer than he, and Derek could imagine Stiles sliding into Derek’s own saddle before him. With his nice backside, Derek was sure that he would be completely amenable to that.

Stiles opened and closed his mouth unattractively. “Uh … With you I suppose.”

“Your horse? Should we tie the two together?” Stiles’ horse was quite beautiful. However, Cam himself was not gelded, so maybe they shouldn’t be so close.

“Blueberry will follow. Unlike your nasty stallion,” he said the words with such bitterness, “she is a good, people loving sort of horse and will do as I ask.” Stiles briskly untied Derek at such a thought.

“Blueberry.” Derek deadpanned. Here stood a young man who willingly named his horse Blueberry.

“Fie on you, Bear.” It was weird not being called by his Christian name, but by the nickname he had been given many a time. “She is a blue roan and when I got her at age eight,” Stiles edged the words out, “I thought it was because her mother had eaten too many blueberries when she was with child. It was cute. I’ve had her ever since and she is much more well behaved than yours.”

Stiles then mounted the detested horse with ease. Cam turned around, knowing his prey was foul-mouthing him, but Derek clicked his teeth together and the horse turned around.

“And just how old are you anyway? You look not a day past your sixteenth birthday.”

“And you your fortieth.” Derek whistled. He knew he looked older with his beard and long hair, but that was a low blow for anyone. “Now get on the damned horse or I’ll be taking it, your saddle bags and myself for a ride.”

Derek sighed but did as he was told, hopping up gracefully and going for the reigns. 

Stiles elbowed him on his good side. “I will be holding the reigns.” He said haughtily. “You don’t even know the way.”

Derek shrugged and settled his hands onto the boy before him, onto his slim hips. He got another elbow to the gut. “What was that for?”

“If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’ll just bind them together again. I swear I will.” Stiles turned on his good side to glare at Derek. As a consequence of such, the younger slid back into the saddle, now fully cradled within Derek’s thighs, his backside completely pushed against Derek’s front. 

Derek would have argued but he was feeling pretty good. Normally by this point, a partner would either be under Derek’s thumb or have given a clear no. Stiles, however, intrigued Derek to no end. Normally his looks or his quiet demeanor drove women (and men) into his arms. Ignore the ones who were on the fence like Stiles and they would come running into his arms. 

They started their trot towards home.

But how could he ignore this … young man who seemed to attract every fiber of Derek’s being towards him? How could he ignore the scent of lavender that was still in his nose, the memory of the arms wrapped around his neck, the thought of those slim yet strong thighs wrapped around his stronger body the other way? It didn’t matter if Stiles was planted in the saddle in front or twenty leagues away at his family’s mill, Derek would endeavor to find him. This miller’s son had wriggled under his skin, and Derek hated to say it, but he loved it.

One part of him more than the rest. Derek closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, but not a half mile out, Stiles slowed Cam to a stop.

“Are you serious? You slipped a dagger into your breeches while I wasn’t looking? Are you attempting to get dumped on your head and just plainly robbed by me?’

Was Stiles serious? As another man he should clearly know what that feeling was. Stiles had seemed to be a virgin but now it was blatantly obvious. Surely Stiles had at least his own experiences to rely on. But those large brown eyes probed his own, and he cursed whatever God thought this was funny.

Derek was attracted to a virgin. He had never bothered with virgins. From what he heard from his comrades, they always wanted more from people who took their maidenheads. Though Derek could not get Stiles with child, Stiles did seem a little more of a clingy type then Derek himself. Instead Derek chose to roll his eyes, hoping Stiles would catch on. After a minute, Derek sighed.

“No, it is not a dagger hilt.” He said very slowly. He was kind of insulted. It was much larger than any dagger hilt he had encountered. 

“What is it then?” Stiles declared. “Take it out of your pants then. Make it stop poking against my back!” Stiles cried.

“Give me a minute.” Derek said softly. 

Stiles’ eyes widened and a heavy blush covered his face and neck. “Oh.”

Derek wished to laugh but he knew he’d be assaulted in some manner or another for doing so. Instead he just smirked at Derek. “I’m afraid the way we slid together caused a natural reaction, sir. I mean no ill towards you. I’m surprised you haven’t elicited a reaction in any of your own encounters.” Derek goaded. 

The blush went shades darker. “I’ve never done this before.” Stiles said softly. “You’re the first person to ever – I’ve never –‘ The blush went full down Stiles’ neck at this point, “Just adjust yourself so we can be on our way.”

Derek reclined back as Stiles glanced back at his own horse, then set Cam on their merry way. Who knew that the youngest son of his very own miller would turn into probably the most entertainment Derek had ever encountered? He was going to have a homecoming of the ages, riding into town with the fiery boy before him. Derek wondered what exactly would tip Stiles into bed with him. The blush clearly stated that he found Derek at least mildly attractive, if not charming. Many would like to find a man such as Derek. He ran his hand across his face.

Perhaps Stiles did find him too old looking, with his beard and unruly hair. When they stopped at an inn to sleep, he would request a razor with his bath. That would show Stiles that his new charge was indeed attractive enough for his bed. He knew Stiles had high standards by just this interaction.

Derek would blow them out of the water. And then maybe his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the sun sets, the anger fires up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm doing better about updating this one!! I'll probably try to get through two more this week but I'm working two jobs so who knows? It'll be at least two more by Friday. 
> 
> JustAnotherStarkid asked how old Allison is, which I realized I didn't put earlier. She is also 19, I'll write it in when she comes back around!
> 
> As always, a good half of this is directly lifted from the Meg Cabot book of the same name. Some genders have been changed, etc etc.
> 
> If you like it, please comment and/or read my other fics! I love hearing from y'all :)
> 
> Also, don't post this on Goodreads? Apparently people do that now.

Stiles had never been one to have bad luck. He had bad things happen to him, as every other being on the planet had, but never bad luck. Today seemed to be the day that all changed. 

Why, it seemed that this insufferable knight might be enjoying himself! Stiles knew that older men could be peculiar – just look at Peter – but this was truly a strange situation he found himself in. He hoped this story would end up as a story he could tell his nieces and nephews one day, not one that ended up with him dead on the side of the trail, vultures picking at his body.

Being a respected hunter and general marksman, Stiles demanded respect. However, this Sir … Bear’s constant teasing and at ease demeanor stated clearly to Stiles that he didn’t care. He felt that he was not the one in control, though he was the one with a dagger in his boot and easy access to the knight’s sword. Sure, the blasted horse he rode on had bitten him and he’d had to untie the knight’s hands to help him get ahold of his injuries, but he was still in charge!

He carefully pressed a hand to his side. Noting that it was easily numb, Stiles supposed that he should thank Saint Elias himself for supplying him with such an easy prisoner to take. One so easy to guide, one with medicine on him that he was willing to share with Stiles. One with gentle hands and easy jokes. That brief glimpse of a person’s true nature, one not shrouded in cynicism. One that easily accepted his defeat …

Maybe the man was looking for some entertainment. Stiles couldn’t blame him. England was oft boring, especially for someone who had spent a significant amount of time in a foreign land. It was said to be beautiful there, with many exotic kinds of food and warm weather all of the time …

It had been a cold winter.

But what really annoyed Stiles is the fact that his captive seemed to enjoy looking at Stiles. His hands still wandered, though Stiles had hit him. Stiles could feel his captor’s eyes tracing the lines of his back, the curve of his neck. When he turned around to say something, he swore the man’s face with go from a smirk to a neutral face underneath his wild tangle of a beard. As if he wanted to seem serious to Stiles but truly enjoyed mocking him! He didn’t understand why this knight made him feel in such a strong way. They were both men and Stiles wasn’t even kidnapping him for his own purposes! He was a gift for Erica.

Who Stiles was going to kill after she had her baby.

But this knight would fetch a fair price, which he knew. In fact, Stiles could have probably strung him up and taken the purse on his person and not even have had to worry about it. Hindsight is always hard to deal with.

Stiles just had to control himself on the impulse to smack Sir ‘Bear’ around. He wasn’t sure what would set the knight’s temper off. Even if he was kind and joking now, something could come up and Stiles could find himself beaten. He could always kick the elder in his nether regions and run off into the wildlands, but he had given too much of himself away and the knight would probably find him later on. 

The old man deserved to be put in his place though. Assuming Stiles liked men (which he did) and brazenly offering himself to Stiles. Who did that? Surely Stiles himself had gotten worked up once or twice but he had never offended said person with rubbing himself against them. It was uncouth! 

They had ridden along in relatively silence for two hours, except for a probing question or two from Sir Bear about his personal life and family, when the sun finally set and it was time for them to find shelter for the night. Stiles urged Derek’s evil stallion, though it was much more easily manageable than his master, into a meadow that was purpling in the sunset, and toward a hayrack.

“Our evening’s accommodations?” The knight inquired, a hopeful tone to his voice.

Stiles sighed. Normally he was the one prattling someone’s ear off, not the other way around, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to a night where he would have no reason to ignore the questions of the wandering knight. 

“It is. I am familiar with the farmer who tends these fields. He’s fine with me staying out here whenever I need a place to lay my head.”

“Generous of him.” Bear said, his lips flat. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I keep his copses free of wolves. I’ve also beaten him in so many shooting contests that he’s given up trying to keep me out.”

“All I said was that it was generous of him –‘

“I heard what you said.” Stiles snapped. “Dismount.”

Derek looked around, as if Stiles was crazy. “Here?”

“No, over in the stream.” Stiles snorted. “Yes, here.” Stiles waited for the heavier man to dismount before sliding down after him. Though they were almost a height, Stiles still felt slim next to this brute of a man. Perhaps his father had been a giant, which meant that he was half-so, and blessed with the muscles of someone otherworldly.

Stiles went over to his own saddlebags, gave Blueberry a good mane rub, and pulled out a new length of rope. “If you would sit there, at the base of the hayrack, I’ll secure you.”

The knight looked at him as if he was speaking a totally different language. “Whatever are you talking about?’ A smirk came to the older man’s lips.

Stiles stamped his foot. “I do not have time for this. I have a fire to start, time to find something to eat, and I can’t do all of that and keep an eye on you, so sit please!”

“So you intend to tie me to the hayrack instead? That’s rich.” A chuckle came out.

Stiles glared at him fiercly. “It isn’t funny, nor am i. What’s to keep you from escaping while I’m hunting?”

The knight raised an eyebrow. When Stiles started to uncoil the rope, the elder put his hands up. “Don’t give me that look. You have my jewel, or have you forgotten?”

Stiles felt it digging into the top of his stomach at that very moment. “For all I know, you could have a dozen of these in your bag. Why should you care?”

“I promised I would stay, and you left my hands unbound earlier, so why should you mistrust me know?” Stiles looked away. It made sense. It looked like Sir Lawrence – a much easier name to swallow than a familiar nickname – had a decent bone in his body after all. “I’ll even make the fire.”

With that comment Stiles was tempted to gag him. The knight could make the fire but then keep quiet the whole evening as Stiles talked his ear off. But there was no hope for that sort of thing, and Stiles only had to endure him for another forty eight hours. With any luck, Scott would be so mad that he wouldn’t mind Stiles escaping to Boyd’s until the ransom was paid. He’d never have to see this … rapscallion again. 

They only had forty eight hours left together at maximum, and sixteen would be spent on precious sleep. If Stiles could sleep in the prescense of such a man.

Sighing dramatically, Stiles coiled the rope back up and put it in his own saddlebag. “Don’t think I won’t take it back out if you don’t behave.” Stiles scolded as he grabbed his bow. He could at least keep the bluff of being in charge up. Stiles slung the quiver across his back and turned back to his captive. “I hope you enjoy rabbit. It’s all you’ll get for dinner.”

Derek bowed as if he’d been offered a palatial feast. What a complete asshole, Stiles thought as he stomped past the hayrack. He’d been mocked by many a person – his sisters, Julia and Peter Hale, even the slatterns at the local inns for his sexless ways – but nothing was so bad as this nefarious knight’s teasing. 

Once he reached the edge of the forest, he relaxed his shoulders. He could not let his anger with a person get in the way of a task that he actually enjoyed. This was his element, his home. He slipped through the forest floor as if he was simply another animal out and about his business. He left several female rabbits go, watching them hop off to their young easily. He followed a male to easily pick off. He was a handsome fellow with a bit of meat on him. He had a friend with him, so Stiles mucked around for a while, following them on their grass eating adventures until he knew he could take no more time. He took out both males easily, one single arrow going through both brains. They felt nothing. 

After skinning them, Stiles washed his hands in the aforementioned brook, cleaning off his face from any remains of the day and filling his water flask. By the time he had returned to the hayrack, his half-hearted hope that the knight had up and left was foiled by the sight of a big back leaning over an impressive fire and even had a pot of something boiling from it.

\--

Derek looked up from the small cauldron that smelled of the shallots he had found. Stiles had been gone for a while. The sun had fully set and the whole meadow they had camped out in was covered in shadow. The firelight had given his face some dimension, as he saw confusion in Stiles’ face when he approached. Stiles himself had gotten more beautiful with the addition of firelight. His face was painted in warm golds and oranges, leading new colors out of his eyes.

(Stiles now knew that under that mess of hair, the knight might actually be some sort of attractive.

“I see you’ve gone through my belongings while I was gone.” Stiles said coldly. 

Derek couldn’t win with this insufferable boy. He shrugged and added a pinch of salt from the bag he’d found in Stiles’ things. 

“Know one’s enemy, I’ve always said.” He worked a side of his lips up, knowing it would irritate his captor. “You have a variety of cooking supplies. I threw some turnips and shallots in here. I figured you wouldn’t mind, seeing as it would be a good breakfast with any left over rabbit and the simmer of the fire.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. He seemed to think Derek was useless, that war was like living in a palace. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“It wasn’t always a smart idea to eat the food served during the war. I saw many men fall to illness due to spoiled meat. Almost as many as I saw murdered by the enemy. We learned how to cook our own dinners, sometimes even in our own helmets. Once or twice you’d forget you had leftovers in there and you’d just get covered in what you’d left.” Derek winced. It had happened more than twice.

Stiles chuckled at the thought of this lascivious man covered in rabbit stew. Did they have rabbit in the Holy Land?

Derek grinned back at the laugh, then glanced down at the branch that Stiles had hung over a branch. “The main course.” Already skinned too, and as Derek took them off the line, well skinned and prepared. “A clean shot. You did this with a short bow?” He hadn’t seen trained marksmen do the same in the army and they worked mercilessly for it.

Stiles fingered his bow. It was a kind compliment. “Tis all I need, in truth. A long bow is too much in the way. Besides, I’ve no need to pierce armor or the like.” He took the bow into his hands, running his finger across its curve.

“May I?” Derek asked, and he was pleased when Stiles gave it to him without complaint. “Finely crafted. You made it?” Stiles nodded and colored. Derek whistled. “It’s quite beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Stiles knew he shouldn’t care what this knight thought, but he had been to war and knew his way around a weapon. “I added an notch there to lengthen the arrow’s flight though. I make my own arrows as well.”

“But,” Derek looked at the arrow, “you dye the ends a unique color, and with the notch, wouldn’t it be easy to tell that it was your arrow.”

“It works, though!” Stiles strained.

“And the Sheriff hasn’t cottoned on to your style?”

“I never miss.” Stiles said flatly, snatching his materials from Derek. Derek wanted to question it, but Stiles gave him no room for return. “Ever. I give no one a reason to find an arrow of mine and throw me into jail. You shouldn’t worry about me when you are the one that could be tied up at any moment.” Stiles took the rabbits back. “I’ll rub down the rabbits with some herbs and they should be done within an half hour.”

Derek reclined, noticing how angry Stiles had become when Derek mentioned trouble. “So your interactions with the shire reeve are none of my business?”

Stiles ignored Derek for a minute as he rubbed down the rabbits quickly and with ease. He knew how to make them taste perfect, and even if he wanted to make his captive’s nasty, he couldn’t bring himself to waste food. It wasn’t until the rabbits were hanging over the fire that he responded. “My parents died when I was very young. The Sheriff – Stilinski – he has been my only father figure. Both his and my real father’s names were John, and my given one is John, so I followed him around. It’s where Stiles comes from. I went from John Crais to Little John, because I was the Sheriff’s shadow, to Little Stilinski to Stiles. It was easier and I love him. He’s the best father figure in town.” Stiles quietly stared at the fire. 

“So he doesn’t mind you poaching the earl’s game?”

Stiles’ eyes met Derek’s with anger in them. “I am not poaching any game. If I was, they would leave the earl’s land. But since they do not –‘

“What do you mean, it doesn’t leave the Earl’s land? Where does it go, Peter?” Derek noticed his slip up, but Stiles didn’t seem to.

“No, I hate that man.” 

It left Derek without words, and he took his body and put it closer to Stiles’, pulling out a flask he had retrieved from his things while Stiles was away. “Try this.” He said shortly.

Stiles gave him the eye but did as he was told. He took a sip and almost spit the whole sip out. “Are you trying to poison me?”

Derek looked a little sheepish. “I apologize, Tis only ale, though I admit it is on the strong side and has been in my saddle bag for a while. I figured the brother of a beer maker would be accustomed to the vagaries of brewing – ‘

Stiles took the teasing for what it was and gripped onto the flask tighter. Not only was his masculinity being made fun of, but also Erica’s skills. Admittedly Erica had only made two batches of beer before she found her own brand but Stiles had still had his share of beer. He wasn’t a boy of six and ten with no hairs on his chin. “I thought it was water you were offering me, not dragon’s milk. I assume you bought it in London?” Derek nodded. “Not only has it been in your hot saddle bags too long, whoever brewed it let it sit too long and now it could turn the hair of the dog.” Stiles took a long drag of it to prove that he could handle it, and Derek watched the planes of his throat as he swallowed.

“My thanks.” Stiles rasped out, and Derek tried to stop himself but his mind went to other situations where his voice could sound like that. A late evening, a warm morning in Derek’s own chambers … 

Stiles rattled the flask in his face. “Hello?”

Derek took it back and took a swig himself. “So the shire reeve is your father and the Earl doesn’t care either –‘

“We don’t have an earl. I mean, we do but … it’s …” Stiles sighed and rotated the rabbits. “A year ago our Earl, the Lady Laura, died and left the estate in the hands of his bailiff.”

“She had no heir?” Derek pushed further. It was interesting to see a person of his land talk about it, even if they had no idea who they were talking to.

“Oh, aye, there is an heir. Only he’s been off gallivanting in the Holy Land for ten years, not unlike yourself –“

Derek’s eyes widenied. “Gallivanting!”

“Well you can’t call it much fore than that. A sorrier display of stupidity I’ve ever seen. Why it makes me ashamed to be a man sometimes.” A thought came to Stiles’ head. “Wait, did you know her brother? Lady Laura, Earl of Stephensgate, her brother –“

“I think you might need to rotate the meat again, it smells like it might be burning.” Stiles turned back to it, his attention away from thoughts of actual Derek. “So the Lady’s heir cannot be located, the estate has laid lordless for a year?”

“A year and two months, three days.” Stiles realized how exact that sounded, “Or thereabouts. And the bailiff, the Earl’s cousin, Peter Hale, he and his daughter Julia live in the manor house right now –“ Stiles realized that though he was a captive, he could easily be freed and go tell Peter all about the hate that stewed within Stiles for him and his daughter. Julia was the reason Stiles was here in the first place, her and her stupid ideas getting into Erica’s head. 

“This Peter isn’t doing his job to your satisfaction, I take it?” Derek said as Stiles pulled at the meat again, obviously anxious. When Derek did not receive an answer, he took a swig of ale and nudged Stiles to take it.

Instead he heard a sharp inhale of pain. Lord was Derek an idiot. “I’d forgotten about your rib. Is it still sore?”

Stiles clearly had his teeth and took the flask back. “Nothing a sip or two of this won’t solve.” Stiles said as he took a few more mouthfuls. He handed it back to Derek and leaned back, looking at the stars. It was quite beautiful out, Stiles mused. Normally he didn’t get the energy to look at the stars, just to eat and promptly fall asleep. Derek wasn’t even bothering him anymore.

“So this Peter Hale.” Derek began again, and Stiles leaned forward and pulled the rabbits away from the fire, handing one to Derek. Hopefully it would shut him up. 

After a few mouthfuls, the knight looked back at Stiles and Stiles sighed. He couldn’t avoid the topic apparently. “Peter Hale seems to feel that the dues owed to Stephensgate Manor out to be nearly twice what they were when Lady Laura and her parents were alive. So, instead of working three days in his Lordship’s fields and four in their own, they work six for Peter and one on their own. But that’s nothing compared with the taxes that he’s instituted.”

Derek gave them a minute to both eat a little more, then went back. “So he’s raised the tallages?”

“By a third and that, compiled with the extra three days’ labor,, well it’s caused a bit of a stir amongst the serfs and the common folk.” Though the common folk owed nothing, they still had friends, relatives who were serfs.

“Have the serfs complained to anyone?” 

“Aye, to the Sheriff. There’s naught he can do though. Lady Laura, well, she wasn’t herself the last year she was alive, and Peter had her in his pocked that whole year. He’ll inherit if Lord Theoderek never returns. It is looking more and more likely by the day.” Stiles turned to look at his captive and wanted to laugh. There was rabbit everywhere on the knight’s face, his beard drenched in it. Stiles wondered why he hadn’t bothered to shave, but perhaps he was uglier underneath the beard.

“So what you’re telling me is that this Peter is slowly starving the people of Stephensgate?”

“The serfs definitely. The rest of us, the free folk, we’re doing alright but the people who work for the Lord himself are surely not.”

The knight had stopped chewing and was staring so intently at Stiles that he felt like a prize buck cresting the horizon. There was something so familiar about his eyes, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place what it was. Perhaps he had seen a relative abouts, though he never traveled as far as Caterbury. Perhaps one of his uncles was an innkeeper and came to sample Erica’s Brew, or had competed against Stiles during an archery competition. Though he had not a father, he was sure to have siblings if he was a knight.

“So,” Derek said in a deep voice, “you are poaching the Earl’s game and giving it to the serfs so they don’t starve.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raised to his hairline. “What a preposterous idea!”

“Don’t play innocent with me, laddie. “ Derek got to his feet and his voice had gone into what sounded like a growl. “That is how you can truthfully tell the Sheriff that the game hasn’t left the ground. It’s lining the stomachs of the serfs.”

Stiles had seen many a large man angry, so he knew it best not to lie. “They would have starved otherwise, it was very cold.”

“Hell and damnation!” Derek growled out and Stiles shot back, almost off the log, his rabbit tight to his chest. He had never seen a man that did not live in the town of Stephensgate get so mad about the mistreatment of serfs. Even Ennis had to be goaded into caring, but when the serfs didn’t buy new equipment for their animals, he had put up a fuss. 

Perhaps, Stiles thought with terror, he was mad at Stiles. His flagrant disregard for poaching laws and his Lordship, his assistance of serfs, his general manners. Perhaps he was mad that Stiles was attracted to men and had put him off the scent by conjuring a stiffy – though Stiles doubted that, but it could happen. 

This meant only one thing – that Stiles should flee. He dropped his half of the rabbit quickly into the pot, grabbed his pouches of seasonings and fled towards Blueberry. He hurriedly stuffed them into his saddle bag and tied it haphazardly shut, flinging himself, with strong pain in his side, onto the horse’s back. He pulled out his dagger when the knight turned around.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Stiles yelled, a tad too loud, and Derek’s expression turned into one of confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re an agent of the king, sent here to capture me!”

“Stiles, I am not. Get down.” Stiles shook his head. “Can I at least ask you a few more questions before you run off into the midnight?” Stiles sighed. 

“Why do you do it?”

Stiles cocked his head. Maybe he wasn’t an agent of the king. “If someone hadn’t done something, half of the village wouldn’t have lasted the winter. There wasn’t enough in their stores because they were surprised with the work.”

“But why you?”

“God gave me a gift. It would be a sin to waste it.”

“You risk your life.” Derek said evenly. “For serfs.”

“Serfs are people too. They are people, just like you and I. They are also my friends, people I’ve known my whole life. If their lord,” Stiles sneered that word out, “will not care for them, I will do my best to do so.” Silence came from the knight. “If you are an agent of the king, you can’t prove anything, any more than the Sheriff can, or that blasted Peter Hale. Ask any single one of the serfs, they’ll swear up and down they know nothing. So you can just go back to the king or even Peter Hale himself and tell him you’ve learnt nothing.”

“I am still lost.”

“I know who you are.”

Derek paled. “I know who you are too?” Maybe that would put him off enough.

“You are either an agent of the King sent here after the war for your spying skills, or a rogue that Peter Hale hired to kill me.”

“You think very highly of yourself.” Derek said, laughing, and put his own rabbit into the pot. “Come down from your horse. I am merely a knight trying to go home and am willingly being captured by you.”

“Tis not amusing.” Derek continued to laugh. “My brother Scott, for all he’s worth, has as many muscles as you do. Between him and my two brothers-in-law, I’m sure you could take a severe hit.”

“You would not join in?” 

Stiles raised his chin regally. “I have already captured you one. I feel no need to harm your ego even more.”

“My ego?” Derek bowed over in laughed. “My ego, that is rich.”

Stiles dismounted and stalked over to Derek, pushing him up and poking him in the chest with the arm on his good side. “See here, the only thing you are is rich. Which is why you are still here and I haven’t left you be. You are a hassle, Sir Bear or whatever you call yourself, and you’d do well to remember that you are a captive.”

Stiles had gotten a little too close, and before he knew it, Derek was sitting down and Stiles had ended up in his lap. This had not been the plan at all. He was going to yell at the knight some more and nick his purse, then take Blueberry and ride off towards his home. Instead he had a hand about his waist and one under his chin. Stiles turned his face up to protest such foul treatment – 

And found himself being kissed. By a pair of quite determined lips. They were a lot softer than Stiles had imagined, and wider as well. His prisoner’s hands were also wide and careful to not touch his injury. 

Stiles knew that he could easily disentangle himself from this knight. He had done it before, at inns that he bargained a fair price for Erica’s Ale. Plus his prisoner was an excellent kisser. By and far the best one the best that Stiles had encountered. 

Once Derek noticed that Stiles’ guard was done, he engaged with the heaviest touches, languid and oddly sweet. He attacked with no mercy. It was something out of the ordinary, these feelings, these feeling stirring inside of himself. It was a sudden and slightly dizzying assault, but he could not break free of this hypnotic spell. Stiles felt his own hands embed themselves in the thick hair that flowed out of the knight’s head, downy soft and easy to play with. In fact, Stiles felt parts of him stirring that he normally did not have in others’ company.

To say that Stiles did not feel an echo of his own discomfort against his hip would be a lie. The part of his knight that had earlier enjoyed Stiles’ closeness had reawakened, renewing its interest again. When Stiles dragged a hand against the back of Derek’s skull, it elicited a tilt of the head and a moan from the older man’s mouth. The hand from Stiles’ waist dropped to join the other and squeezed Stiles’ ass. Hard.

It was at that moment Stiles knew he had to disentangle himself from this game. He was not willing to give what the knight was wont to take. It was not as if Stiles valued his virginity, but he would not give the knight something to hold against him. He had even had a daydream of the wandering knight falling for Erica and whisking her away to Caterbury after slaying Jackson. 

And there went the knight’s hands, sneaking around to the front of Stiles’ breeches. Stiles knew if one of the knight’s hands got to anything under his pants that Stiles would be a bigger slut than Julia Hale herself. He didn’t need another reason for Christopher Argent to try to convince Allison to break it off with Scott.

He did what he had to and knocked his head into the top of the wandering knight’s, and when he leaned back, tipped himself onto the ground, landing on his uninjured side.

After his momentary knock back, Derek followed Stiles down to the soft hay. “Have you lost your reason?” Stiles said, banging his hand against an immovable shoulder as the knight dragged his lips up Stiles’ neck.

“I think I have not lost my reason, Mister Crais, but my heart.” Derek’s voice came out raspy and made Stiles shiver a little. This caused a grin to light Derek’s face. 

“Do not think that your words are what causes my … uh … reaction. Do you think me a simpleton? That I’ll swoon at your nefarious ways and beg for you to take me?”

“It is going to be a long and cold night,” Derek commented into his ear, and Stiles cursed whatever parent had given him sensitive ears. “Long and cold, though it spring, and we could find warmth in each other’s arms.”

Stiles knew such words made sense but he was doing this for Erica. He had captured a man, he was taking the man back and he would not be entangled in such debauchery. Stiles, instead, went for the kill and wrapped his legs around the wretched knight’s torso, flipping them over. 

Scott had taught him how to wrestle. 

He then jumped to his feet, light as a feather. Derek looked stunned, staring up at him from the ground. “Don’t make me have to hurt you. I am not a maiden or a damsel looking for a good time like some people. I am not even the reason that you are getting ransomed. If you want to romance anyone, you should try my sister. Your actual captor.”

Derek sighed and laid back into the hay. “Remind me never to tangle with a virgin.”

Stiles sniffed as he started for his horse. “You only have yourself and your urges to blame. I never invited your advances.”

“Like hell you didn’t. What do you call that little stunt back at the spring, then?”

“A trap.”

“Yes, yes, a lure for the ignorant beast. Well, I certainly fell for it, didn’t I? I have to admit, though you seem like a prude, that was definitely slattern behavior..”

“I told you, you are not my prisoner. You are my sister’s prize.”

‘Your blasted sister. Your sister needs the money, not you. What does she need it so badly for, anyway? Has she got herself in the family way?”

Stiles turned around, his jaw dropped. 

This set Derek off into chuckles. “That’s it!” He crowed. “Lovely sister Erica is highly skilled at brewing beer and seducing men! The face of an angel but the virtue of a trollop! Why, she should teach you a few lessons!”

It was at that moment Derek felt a slap across his face. “How dare you?” Stiles gritted out. “You know nothing of my sister. You take that back!”

Derek took the slap worth a grain of salt. He had seen men beat one another for saying such true things about their preferred whores. “That also explains why you hate this Jackson fellow. He would be the father then? And hanging out with Julia, you’re afraid once he finds out that he’ll flee into the hands of a richer woman, since your sister seems to have no sense to go with her brewing skills. Does Brother Scott know? I reckon not.”

Stiles wanted to scream in anger. “Erica is no trollop. That damned troubadour tricked her, and she follows Julia Hale’s advice too oft for my liking.”

“So he tricked her out of her maidenhead? Maybe the both of them should teach you a lesson. Perhaps while I’m waiting out my ransom with this winsome Erica, she can teach me how to get such virgins to liberally divest themselves of such favors. I know such a lad that could deal with such a lesson.”

He was teasing Stiles! How could he be so nonchalant about something that was so awful?

Stiles was through with it all. He took the blasted jewel from around his neck and threw it at Derek’s face, smacking him directly in the nose. “There is your bloody jewel back. I no longer need such an abuser for my prisoner. I’ll head back and pick up your blasted Matthew and just keep him trussed to his horse. Take your horse the other way. I never want to see you again!”

Almost in tears with his anger, Stiles stomped over to his horse and mounted with grace he didn’t know he possessed. He checked for his water flask, finding it secure, and went for the reigns to find his hands grasped by stronger ones.

“Let me go. I have released you.”

“Stiles. Dismount.”

Stiles snorted. “I will do nothing of the sort.”

“Stiles …” The knight used a soft voice, as if he was dealing with a child. Stiles had a right thought to kick him where the sun did not shine. It was a last resort but it would do well in a pinch.

Or the knight would drag Stiles down with him.

“I want you to go away and leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.” Derek said softly.

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t do that’. What are you, a fairytale prince?” He looked nothing like those described in fairytales. Christ, he was going to kill Erica once he made it home.

“No, but I am a gentleman who made a promise to another. I was raised to keep my promises,” Stiles snorted, “and I am sorry. I am used to people being able to handle my sense of humor. Please forgive me.” Stiles looked away, wishing he was on the ground so he could kick at a rock. “Even if I’m not you or your sister’s prisoner, we are going the same way and since we’ve left Matthew alone, I would ask you to please ride with me. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

Stiles sighed. “Let me dismount, you rogue.” The knight released him and stepped back and Stiles dismounted slowly, his side starting to ache. Derek pressed the garnet back into his hand, and Stiles put the silken cord back around his neck and gave Derek a fake smile.

Derek wanted to add more, about how distracting Stiles was when he was angry, but he knew that he had barely been able to keep Stiles from riding off into the distance without the knight. “I’ll see to the breakfast for tomorrow. You do what you wish.”

Stiles went for his saddlebags and pulled out a bar of lavender soap and a blanket. He put the blanket on top of the hayrack and headed back to the stream. If he could not be home or be alone, he would at least calm himself with the scent of home. He had to calm down. As Stiles sat at the riverbanks and cleaned his hands and face with the soap, he sobered up. He knew he could not leave this knight to his own devices. Erica needed him to succeed.

He came back to find his captive tending the fire. Stiles sighed and climbed into the hayrack, careful to lay on his uninjured side. He watched the fire still to a safe level, the black beard of his captive still visible. Perhaps the knight was hiding a scar with his beard, or was he hiding from someone?

Perhaps, Stiles thought as he pulled the blanket down and wrapped it around himself, it had been a sultan’s daughter that had given his knight the jewel. A love story for the ages, one that ended with Bear being sent home, unable to get the sultan’s permission to marry his daughter. He hid his face with the beard to shield the world from his grief, his humor his invisible dagger. Stiles began to imagine this beautiful woman with her tanned skin and her dark hair, different from Stiles in all manners.

Stiles wondered if Derek had kissed the sultan’s daughter the same way he kissed Stiles. Like it was all he wanted to be doing, all he ever aimed to do. If it was as passionate and oddly fun. Stiles played with the gem as he flopped onto his back. 

During his little moment of daydreaming, Derek slid into the hayrack as well, positioning himself far away from Stiles. Well, Stiles mused, at least he is keeping his promise. “Goodnight, Bear.” Stiles called from his spot.

A minute later, he got a gruff, “Goodnight, Stiles.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tangles and snares aplenty happen on Stiles and Derek's second day of traveling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hay! Just a reminder, I'm not going to be around that much this week with two jobs, so I made this chapter super long and cut a lot of the wordiness down. It also gets quite steamy, if I do say so myself, so this is your warning.
> 
> There are some OC's from the book in here, but nothing too crazy.
> 
> As always, please leave me love! I'll try to respond in kind.

Lord Theoderek Hale, seventh Earl of Stephensgate, looked down at the young man plastered to the front of his body and wondered how he had got himself into such a debacle.

Debacle wasn’t a strong enough word. 

Charade. That was better.

He had tangles aplenty in Jerusalem and throughout Egypt, but none as tempting and as fair as the boy whose feet were sticking out of the bottom of the blanket he had on. The affairs abroad had been wild, fun, dangerous, and even lascivious. But in the Holy Land, he had never tangled with a prude, let alone a virgin. 

It wasn’t a disease at least, Derek mused as he watched Stiles’ head rise and fall with Derek’s own breaths. Stiles overwhelmed him in more ways than one.

For one thing, he had started his slumber on a side completely opposite from Stiles. Stiles had been snoring by the time Derek had even settled in to sleep. Now Stiles was clinging like a barnacle to him. Derek’s hand had migrated to Stiles’ ass. It was nice, firm. Derek’s hand, sadly, was the only part of that was any sort of remotely comfortable. He wasn’t saying he didn’t enjoy Stiles pressing all against his front. In fact, he was enjoying it a bit too much.

But last night, Stiles had made it all too clear that any relief was not to be found in his corner. It wasn’t a question of desire at all – Stiles had made it all too clear that he found Derek attractive. Stiles was just focused on helping his sister more than he was finding pleasure for himself.

Which Derek found slightly admirable. He would have done the same for Laura if she had gotten herself into such a situation. Well, before she helped their parents spirit him away. That was neither here nor there at this point.

It was just upsetting that Derek, as the lord of the manor now, could not dally along with the people of his land. He was an Earl. He would have to take a mistress, which made him groan aloud. Or a master. Either was going to be generally demanding, need a home and life of their own and be someone that could be respected by the people of Stephensgate.

Yet Derek didn’t have the time. If Stiles was telling the truth – and he couldn’t imagine Stiles lying, especially after how he tried to run away after being so truthful – Stephensgate had been in the hands of his uncle for far too long. How a man could starve his own serfs was beyond Derek’s imagination. These were hard working people. Families that had worked on the Stephensgate lands for as long as they had belonged in the Hale family. He knew that his parents and Laura had one of the highest taxes in all of England, but for his uncle to be so brazen to raise them higher to line his own pockets? Despicable.

He belonged in the stockade.

So finding a mistress or master would have to wait for a while. Derek sighed, looking at the bushy head snoring against his chest. If only Stiles weren’t so adamant about hating him. 

A large drop of rain fell out of the dark sky and landed on top of Stiles’ upturned nose. It caused Stiles to toss himself back onto the hay, a hand on his face and another on his dagger hilt.

Derek sat up and prayed that the shadow of the early morning hid the tent in his braise. 

“Good morning,” he groaned out, “I trust you slept well. Were you warm enough?”

Stiles stared at Derek, who had a grip on Stiles’ blanket. Stiles glared.

“Don’t look at me. I had nothing to do with it. I’m exactly where I fell asleep.”

Stiles wanted to wipe that smirk clear off Derek’s face, but before he could get propped onto his side, he groaned in pain and flopped onto his back.

Derek was immediately contrite. He was well aware that his horse had done a nasty thing to Stiles, but his captor’s pain tolerance was admirable. Amusing as he was to tease, Derek did not want a sparring partner in pain.

“Let me see it.”

“Nay,” Stiles argued, propping himself up on an elbow. “Tis fine,”

Derek leaned over Stiles and pinned one wrist. “I’ll see it.”

Stiles would have fought harder, but the morning time wasn’t his best time of day, and his side really did hurt. “Look, but don’t touch.” Stiles rucked up his tunic.

For someone who didn’t seem to mind showing off the top part of his chest at a local inn, Stiles was sure afraid of showing Derek the rest of him. Derek’s eyes skimmed his side, then looked at the bruise. It had begun to fade into a yellowish brown, which meant that it was healing. 

Derek fell back on his heels. “It’s getting better. I’ll give you a few more drops of the poppy and we can bind it when we get home.”

“Better? It hurts worse than it did yesterday!” Stiles screamed.

“Yeah, but it looks so much better. Besides, you put yourself through quite a trial yesterday, with all of that riding and hunting and despising me –“

Stiles snorted and reclined back. “I still have no idea why you are still here.”

“I told you, I’d like someone to ride home – I mean, close to home with.” He almost revealed something that he didn’t mean to say. “Now, breakfast. Let us see how the soup fared overnight.”

Derek climbed out of the hayrack, shaking some loose pieces off of his body. He turned to offer a hand to Stiles, who ignored him and pushed his body out of the hayrack by sheer will. Stiles then stomped off to do something; Derek sat down next to the dwindling fire. As yesterday had been beautiful, it looked like today would be a cold and dismal day. Perhaps he could convince Stiles to stop at a local inn and stay there instead of hustling back home. It was cold and Derek could feel the rain coming in his bones. If they stayed out of doors all day, they’d both be soaked by nightfall.

The soup turned out better than Derek had expected. Both of the leftover rabbit carcasses had added some flavor and thickness. The herbs and the vegetables had created something flavorful to eat. Derek took a few bites of it as he waited for Stiles.

When Stiles returned, he had gotten all of the hay out of his hair and from his clothes. His hair stuck to his forehead and it was endearing, to say the least. 

His freshness made Derek wonder what he must look like. He was sure he had a ton of hay all over his body, probably in his beard and the hair on the top of his head. He normally was given second and third glances by people of both genders. However, he knew that his hair grew quickly, and it had been since before London that he had gone barefaced. The edges of his beard tickled the top of his chest. 

“Here,” Derek said, handing the spoon he had dragged from Stiles’ own bag and the vial of poppy. “I’m going to go clean myself off.” Stiles shrugged and gestured toward the path he had come from.

It was truly like Stiles didn’t care what Derek did, and that infuriated Derek. He didn’t know why it mattered to him, that this thin faced hunter, youngest son of a miller for Christ’s sake, had a positive opinion of him. He was attracted to Stiles more than he had been to any other person he’d encountered. He supposed it was because Stiles had turned him down. Forbidden fruit was always the sweetest.

When he returned to the hayrack, beard clean of all hay and hair only mildly messy, he found Stiles had procured two bowls from somewhere and had doled out equal portions of the soup. “This is good. Do you want some?”

Derek grunted and sat down, eating the soup quickly. He had to get his hair wet – he felt as if he smelled poorly – so he was cold. He should probably get out his better cloak, he mused, but he was too hungry to do it at this moment. 

After Derek had finished and Stiles had started to put out the fire, Derek decided to pitch his idea. “So, it’ll be a miserable day.” Stiles shrugged, making sure no sparks got out of the fire pit. “What if we find an inn and spend the day in front of a nice, warm fire?”

Stiles turned to Derek and rolled his eyes. “I would say nay.”

“Just like that?” 

“Just like that. I did consider it, I’ll give you that. I have to get to Dorchester by nightfall as it is.”

“Why?” Derek asked, leaning against his own horse. “What’s the hurry? Is Erica beginning to show?”

Stiles stood up quickly, wielding his pot as a weapon. “I’ll show you.”

Derek held up his hands. If his words had upset Stiles, it was just Stiles being sensitive. 

“Nay, it’s nothing like that. Only, if I’m gone too long, Scott will get suspicious…” Stiles trailed off and began to pack up his things.

“Supsicious of what? You’re a fully grown man, just as he is. It’s Erica he should be suspicious of. His youngest sister and he’s more worried about you? You can’t even get pregnant.”

“I could still get arrested.” Derek shrugged. “Scott has never paid Erica much mind. She was so sickly as a child that if she isn’t ill, he doesn’t really care what she does.”

“Maybe if he did, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“Aye, that’d be true. But be that as it may, I must be as far as Dorchester today, so I can make it to Stephensgate tomorrow.” Stiles grabbed his own cloak and checked the tack on Blueberry.

Derek tapped the heel of his boot. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“No I am not.” Stiles said, swinging onto his horse. “You’re not coming with me.”

Derek rubbed the heel of his hand on his forehead. “I am still your prisoner, am I not?”

“I released you last night, if you’ve forgotten.”

“But what about Erica?” Derek interjected. “How will she scrape together money for hops and malt without my ransom?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and Derek had to bite his own tongue from wanting to smile. How could someone who had a grand total of five skills be so endearing? How could this random kid make Derek want to take him back to the manor and show him everything? Stiles couldn’t bear children, so he would have to be a master. Knowing Stiles, though, that would never happen. He would probably rather marry Peter than be an unacknowledged lover. 

Derek couldn’t do anything but grab onto Stiles’ tight pant leg. “What I don’t understand is how you are going to acquire enough capital to assist your sister with her needs?”

Stiles sighed. “I guess I’ll find someone else. I may have to capture someone who has already done so, but even the smallest amount can go far.”

“Someone else? Do you really think that I am that frustrating? Someone else in this short time period would be less money but also a bigger pain in your side.”

“Aye, you already are a big pain in my side.”

Derek let go of Stiles, scoffing. “At least try to find someone younger than me to hold prisoner at least.”

“Ah, you found the role of hostage too rigorous for a man of your advances years, eh?” Stiles’ eyes shimmered with mirth. He now held the upper hand.

“How old do you think I am anyway?” Derek declared, and when he did not get an answer he sighed. “A younger man just might be more manageable.”

“Less apt to make advances, you mean.”

“Certainly not.”

“You don’t have to say it, you find me utterly attractive,” Stiles fluttered his lashes in a coquettish way, “but I know better. Your concern is touching but I can find my own way. As you said, I am a man, just as yourself. I am sure I can figure out something. And don’t you offer your Matthew. I would rather ransom Peter Hale himself.”

Not a bad idea, Stiles mused. He’d have to deal with Julia, but she seemed like she would understand.

“Weren’t you the one who found Peter Hale all manners of grotesque? If there was any one I know of to force a person, it would surely be him.”

Stiles laughed, a full belly laugh. “I am sure Erica can handle herself around Peter Hale. All I have to do is get him from the manor to the millhouse. I’m looking for a hostage, not a husband. Or a wife.”

“Well I’d love to see someone try and get you in bed.” Derek snorted. 

That was the final straw. He was not going to take this. He set Blueberry off at a trot, knowing it would take the brute at least two minutes to mount his own horse and follow. Stiles was going to take a back path.

It was half an hour later that Stiles conceded that Bear knew his way around his land, and slowed his horse down to a pause. He had to admit, he was less angry than before.

“Did you have to push your horse so hard?” Derek inquired.

Stiles wanted to shout at him, but he refrained. Maybe if he didn’t engage, the knight would go away. He dismounted and checked the horse’s shoes.

“Not speaking to me? That’s rich.”

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” Stiles yelled, his voice echoing in the deep forest. “Do you get pleasure out of mocking me? I told you to leave, tried to give you your damned garnet back, but yet all you do is follow me around! Am I that interesting?”

“Why do you keep believing these lies?”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles wanted to go for his dagger.

“Your sister is using you. She’s the one who got pregnant yet you’re the one riding around in the cold with a strange man. She’s the one safe and snug at home. She’s using you, Stiles.”

“She’s my sister. Siblings do things for each other, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I told you I had a sister, right?” Derek snorted. “She was the golden child. She got whatever she wanted, she even got to be the heir, and I was the younger one. I was expected to enter the church –“

Stiles started to laugh, grabbing onto his horse’s saddle. “You … in a church … this is so rich.”

“I am glad this amuses you.” Derek turned his nose to the sky. “My mother thought I would do well as a monk.”

“Well, if they wanted to see you do well, they should have just let you make your own choices. If you wanted to be a soldier, they should have just let you go in peace.”

“Exactly. So, I told my sister that was what I wanted, and you know what she did? She didn’t do what you’ve done, be nice to your sibling, she hired footpads to spirit me off to the local monastery. And so I had to run away, grab my things from my room and head to London. I haven’t come home since.”

“I’m sorry, Bear.” Stiles touched Derek’s arm in a manner he hoped was comforting. “Can you two make amends?”

“She died about two years ago.” Derek sighed. “My parents and my sister, they’ve all died. And I was away.”

“So now you’re alone.”

“And heir, despite my sister’s best efforts. So do not tell me that siblings are incapable of harm. Your sister is using you, and you are letting her.”

Stiles looked down at his hands. He had pulled on leather gloves earlier in the ride, close fitting and well worn, and was now playing with a loose string. Derek felt bad, spilling his secrets to someone who was mad at him and didn’t ask for them, but he felt better about telling Stiles what he felt was his truth.

“What happened to your sister’s dowry?”

“She spent it. On dresses and trinkets. I suppose it’s true that Scott should have been watching her more closely, but it isn’t my job to be telling him what to do.”

Brother Scott, Derek thought sadly, might find himself in the stockade with his uncle if this idiocy kept occurring. 

“But, whether or not Erica is using me, she is still my sister. If I can help her, I will. And I can.”

“So I don’t understand why you can’t just keep me as your hostage then. I think I make a very fine prisoner.”

Stiles sighed. “You’ve had your moments.”

“I never tried to escape, did I? I could have easily overpowered you, and yet I’ve restrained myself.” Stiles gave Derek an eyeroll.

“Since you seem intent on following me whether I want you to or not, I suppose you’re still my prisoner. Now let’s get going. It is still cold and rainy and I’d rather not have to sit in it for longer than I have to. Now get on your horse.”

“You sure you don’t want to bind my wrists, just in case?” Derek asked. He wouldn’t mind being on the same horse as Stiles again. It would be warm.

Among other things.

“How about we don’t. Just get on your horse, man.” Stiles himself mounted his own mare and began to head home, though slower than he had before.

Derek sighed and mounted his stallion. Normally if a partner expressed disinterest in Derek, he would just shrug it off. He’d lose interest within an hour and move on to someone who was interested. But Stiles, with all of his snootiness and loyalty, was interesting. He’d had ample opportunity to head off by himself, but he’d stayed with the younger man. Why did the idea of Stiles leaving worry him so much?

What if Stiles met someone? Derek thought as they headed out. What if he was trim, and not hairy, and quiet and kind and didn’t make fun of Stiles every fifteen seconds? What if this man accepted Stiles for his crazy family, found money to give his wretched sister, and already had children so that Stiles could stop thinking he wasn’t good enough?

Maybe Derek was projecting.

It wasn’t until they had reached a field being tilled by an ox-pulled plow that anything got said.

A high voice came bounding through the rain, and Stiles jerked on his mouth’s reins to stop her. 

“Your Lordship!”

Fucked. Derek was fucked.

“Milord Stiles!”

Wait, what?

The rough shod farmer stumbled up the road before them and, clutching his hat to his chest, bowed quickly to the both of them. “I thought it ‘twas you, milord. I said to Evan ‘here, Evan, I says Like as not that’s the Lord Stiles, the wonderful man he is, passin’ by.”

Stiles beamed at this poor farmer, “Good day to you, Matthew Fairchild, Evan. Tis a sorry day for plowing.”

“Tis a sorry day for anything. Milord.” Evan added, and his master turned to scold him, but Stiles laughed. 

“You are right my friend. So right.”

“So,” Matthew interjected, “I said to Evan ‘here, I said, if it is Milord Stiles passin’ by, my Mavis would have me dead if I didn’t invite ‘im in, I’d get me head chopped off.”

Derek was a little lost, but Stiles seemed to understand perfectly by the shake of his head and the wringing of his hands. “Matthew, I’d love to come in, but we’ve got to be in Dorchester by sunset –‘

“What sun? You’ll make it in plenty a time. Come inside, warm yourselves, have a cuppa – “

“A cuppa?” Derek interjected.

“Aye, a cuppa my Mavis’ cider.” This Matthew was clearly better than his own, and Derek decided if he was allowed a cup of Mavis’ cider, that Matthew would be rewarded in kind when Derek got his home back. “My Mavis brews the best, and I know she won’t take kindly to ya just passin’ by and not takin’ at least a cuppa cider.”

Stiles sighed and looked towards the house, then back at Derek. Who was also looking longingly at the house.

“Thank you, Matthew. Sir Lawrence and I would be delighted to stop and join you and Mavis.”

Matthew lit up like a brand new fire, and smacked Evan on the back. “Go tell your mistress we’ll have company for lunch, and be sure to tell ‘er it’s Lord Stiles.” He turned back to the pair on horses, “I’ll just go get Goliath and meet you there. You know the way?”

Stiles nodded. “I know the way.” He tugged softly on Blueberry’s reins and turned towards a free standing barn, Derek riding up to ride alongside him.

“Milord. Oh, Milord Stiles, I’m sorry to trouble you, but is there something you aren’t telling me?” Derek was quite confused.

“Mind your own business, monsieur.” Stiles made an unattractive face.

“Had I known I was traveling with a noble personage, I would have insisted on you putting me up in an inn instead of that blasted hayrack-‘

“It is a courtesy.” Stiles sighed, as if it was an argument he’d had many a time. “I’ve asked them to stop, but they persist. Tis quite silly. Matthew can be very sweet though, unlike some Matthews I know …”

“Oh I’m sure. He seems to know you quite well. Childhood paramour?”

“What’s it t’you anyway?”

“I just want to know if he is a suitor. An ardent one, by the looks of it.”

“In case you have lost your mind, Mavis is his wife. I have no intention of ever, ever being a third in a relationship. You have an overactive imagination for a knight. Matthew is a freeman,” Stiles gestured to the fields around them, “this is his plot. Last year he fell in love with a serf of the Earl’s, Mavis Poole. When he asked for her hand, Peter gave an exuberant price for her before she was to be released from his clutches –‘

“And let me guess, you scraped together the rest of the money by selling the Earl’s game.”

Stiles raised his face high, to the invisible sun, and puffed his chest out. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Derek snorted in disgust. “No wonder they treat you like a lord, you act like one. You’ve done more than anyone should have to, especially as a freeman.” 

“Mavis gave birth to a child not too long ago and it would be rude not to drop in and see the little bugger.”

Derek swore that if reincarnation were possible, Stiles would be Robin of Loxley. Steal from the rich, give to the poor, caring not for his own name or safety.

As they rode up to the Fairchild house, the barn seemed to be new and beautifully built, along with a tidy little cabin style house. Derek had figured it would not look as nice up close, but he was happy to be wrong. Stiles clearly knew where he was going, getting Blueberry to knock a door open and easily dismounting and picketing his mare close to fresh water. He then shook his cloak out as Derek followed suit, and as soon as Cam was ready, Stiles doused him with rainwater from his cloak.

“Oops.” Stiles said with not an inch of apology in his voice.

“You did that apurpose!” Derek cried, going for Stiles.

“I didn’t do anything. See here, you are my prisoner and I can do anything I want to you. If, and only if, I meant to get you wet, it would be perfectly within my right. You look like you need a dunking.”

“I’ll show you a dunking.” Derek went, running for him – but Stiles was a quick as a fox, sprinting out to the cabin next door, laughing as Derek’s boots started to sink into the mud under his weight. 

Greeting them at the door was a quite lovely soul, curly blonde hair surrounding a heart shaped face. “Lord Stiles!” She cried. This must be Mistress Fairchild. “And your friend. Tis wonderful to see you, Sir. You have to come inside and take a cuppa with your … companion?”

“This is Sir Lawrence Ftizwilliam of Caterbury. He’s returned home from the Crusades.”

“Ah! ‘Twould explain his appearance.” Mavis turned her head to the side. “If you cleaned him up a bit, milord, you could pass ‘im off for okay looking. With a ‘aircut and some new clothes and maybe trim that awful beard, he’d be alright.”

“You are a generous lady, Mavis.”

Derek stood, in utter shock at what was being said.

“Is ‘e simple, that ‘e just stands there like that?” This caused a roar of laughter from Stiles, who leaned onto Mavis for support.

Derek was not going to take this insult, though he knew it came more from Stiles than Mavis at all. He bowed, then stood and threw back his shoulders. “Mistress Fairchild, I am neither simple nor uncouth. Might I enter your home and warm myself by your fire, as your husband has offered?”

Mavis’ eyes went as round as eggs, and she slid out of the doorway. “Of course, sir.”

Stiles was still in stitches as Derek brushed past him. Derek wanted to knock into him, but he didn’t know how injured Stiles was still feeling, so he held himself together and observed the house. Multiple rooms – Matthew Fairchild was highly impressive – with a wooden floor that shone from obvious polishing. A living room, a bedroom, even a kitchen table, a few chairs and a comfortable looking armchair right next to the fire. 

The fire itself was a large and cheerful one, and Derek wondered if he would look silly by laying his cloak out in front of it and then laying atop his cloak. Siles, however, had no qualms about moving around this small house, and had already spread his own wet cloak before it, and had clipped his damp gloves to a line hanging over it. The rest of him was soaked to the bone; Derek could see the lumps of his spine through his tunic. The leather, which Derek though clung sinfully, had a thicker grip on Stiles now, the curves of his ass truly tantalizing. 

Derek averted his eyes and laid his own things down in front of the fire, sitting next to Stiles as he warmed his own hands. Stiles smiled at him with happiness in his eyes, and Derek figured he could get used to this.

Mavis appeared during their moment and handed them both tankards. “You both must be chilled to the bone!” She was also kind enough to throw a large blanket over the both of them, and Stiles ensconced himself inside of the blanket while Derek took a sip of the rich hard cider. It was fantastic, and though Derek knew he had nothing to do with it, he was proud of the people that tilled his land. They were wonderful.

Derek reclined against the armchair as Stiles began to chat with Mavis about this and that. Stiles was a cheerful sort, and even held the Fairchild’s baby as they chatted about his health through the winter. It was a large, happy looking thing, who waved its hand at Derek when it saw him. Derek gave it a small wave back.

Evan and Matthew appeared not long thereafter, and suddenly a feast of local delights had popped out. Creamy cheese, warm bread, wonderful pickles and even more cider seemed to ease Stiles into a chair as Derek shoved as much as humanly possible down his throat. It was easy to bask in the glow of a fire as people who liked each other.

Derek was half-asleep when he felt a pull on his tunic. He looked up to find Stiles, still wrapped in his blanket, smiling down at him.

“It is time for us to go. We have places to be, or have you forgotten?” 

Derek frowned, but pulled himself off of the floor. Stiles grabbed his gloves and his cloak as Derek kissed Mavis Fairchild’s hand and gave Matthew a firm handshake. Evan had disappeared to somewhere or another and Derek found he couldn’t care less. Derek gathered his things, warm from the fire, and followed Stiles out to the yard.

Matthew called, “Bring us some of Erica’s Ale the next time you visit!” 

Stiles waved back, allowing Derek to sneak in front of him and into the barn.

“That was pleasant, wouldn’t you sa-ay?” Stiles voice went up in pitch when he entered the barn and Derek pinned him to Cam’s flank. Before Stiles could put another sentence together, Derek’s lips came down upon his, the knight’s hands grasping his backside and lifting him halfway off of the ground.

Stiles tried to protest but that was quickly overruled by a knee insinuating itself between Stiles’ thighs. It was like a seat but it brushed up against places that normal chairs did not. Stiles gasped and Derek’s tongue plundered his mouth, not caring whether Stiles was ready or not. 

Stiles sighed, knowing that he had been beaten, and wrapped his hands around the poor knight’s neck, drawing him closer. He would at least be kissed well if he was to be trapped against a horse that hated him and a knight that seemed to want more than what Stiles knew how to do. Stiles succumbed to the kisses placed on his lips, then his nose, his chin then back down to his neck, which seemed to be a favorite of Derek’s. Stiles groaned – he had never had someone really try to kiss him like this – and one of Derek’s hands traveled up to push away the already loose collar of his tunic, beginning to play with a nipple. 

Stiles gasped. He had never known that part of him to be sensitive. He opened his eyes to speak to Derek about this treatment –

But his eyes landed on Evan instead, who stood there, dumbfounded, with Stiles’ gloves in his hands.

Derek did not seem to notice that Stiles had gone ramrod straight until he began to look for a bale of hay for them to lay in and saw Evan as well. He promptly dropped Stiles to his feet and turned so that Derek’s whole body hid Stiles’.

“You forgot yer gloves.” Evan said, holding them out. Derek snatched them and held them back to Stiles.

“You didn’t see anything.” Derek said menacingly, and Evan nodded and fled before anything else could be said. Proud of himself, Derek turned back to Stiles – 

Which earned him an elbow in the gut.

“What was that for?”

“What was that for?” Stiles did in a great imitation of Derek’s voice, “That was for trying to seduce me again and getting us caught in front of Evan. He’ll say something to his master, who will say something to my brother, and then I shall just go join Boyd in his bachelor hut.” Stiles sighed and jumped onto his horse. “Perhaps Boyd will find pity on me and marry me.”

This caused a fit of jealousy in Derek, and combined with the annoyance of being stopped in what was probably the best kissing session of his life, made Derek so very ornery he turned and kicked one of Farmer Fairchld’s barn doors. A board or two got loose.

“What in God’s name are you doing? This isn’t even your barn!” Stiles screeched. 

Derek turned and pulled out a golden coin, tossing it in the basin of clean water. “That’ll pay for a whole new damn barn. Are you satisfied?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You, sir, grow too big for your breeches.”

Derek adjusted himself after Stiles looked away. “That, my dear, is entirely the problem.”

\--

For the rest of the dreary day, Stiles tried to avoid doing anything but riding. But Derek’s horse was always meandering over towards his, their knees brushing and then giving untrue apologizes, his green eyes betraying his words.

Stiles knew that he had probably lead the knight on, returning his kisses. Why, it was twice in twenty four hours that he had done so. But he refused to be a passing fling for anyone, especially a wandering knight who had a set of wandering hands. He knew that Mavis Fairchild had probably already heard from that blasted Evan of what ‘His Lordship’ was doing in his barn. He probably thought that Stiles wasn’t at all proper with his charge. In fact, Mavis probably thought that the teasing before they entered was merely flirting. Flirting that came from loving someone.

But surely Mavis knew better than to think that Stiles could ever love a scruffy knight twice his age. Stiles didn’t want to fall in love period. If he did, he wanted someone who loved him for the way he was, not for what he had. 

Which was, apparently, a nice backside and neck.

He was not in love with the scruffy, arrogant knight who kept going back on his word. He did admire the physicality of the man though. Stiles had gotten a touch of his abdominal muscles and they were nothing to sneeze at. Stiles had always wanted nice muscles. And a pair of nice eyes, which Derek seemed to have. However, they never stayed one color for long, twinkling between green and brown and a hazy grey when Stiles had to wake him up to get on the road again.

And he had even arms and legs, which was a big deal. Men with legs that looked like chickens were unappetizing. Women were curvaceous but never had to deal with such silly looking legs when they only did heavy lifting all day.

Perhaps he should just find a nice woman to settle down with. 

Sir Lawrence Fitzwilliam was a specimen of a man, and any man or woman would be proud to call him ‘husband’. Perhaps the knight would listen to her and take Erica in. They’d have lovely babies…

Well, after this one.

Stiles looked at his prisoner, who looked as miserable as Stiles felt. His cloak fell over his scruffy hair and beard, his back was a little curved from exhaustion. The sun still hadn’t made any presence known, and the rain never let up. Stiles sighed and knew he was defeated. 

“Shall we stop for the night, Bear, and look for shelter? I know a shepherd or two that has a hut nearby.”

“A hut. You expect me to stay in a hut, out of doors, after the day we’ve had. I am not stopping until we have reached Dorchester and I can find an inn.”

“We can’t stay at an inn, I have no coin for such … frippery.” Two could play at being an asshole.

“I will pay for the bloody room.”

Stiles knew it a fight he couldn’t win. “And I will stay in the dry barn with the horses.”

“Like hell you’ll stay with the horses. You’ll act like a normal, God-fearing human being and go in the damn inn with me!” 

Stiles wanted to kick something again, just as this rowdy knight had in the barn. “I am surely not sharing a room with you, if that’s what you think. I’d rather sleep with the horses.”

“Separate rooms then. I have the coin and I’m sure you’ll appreciate the privacy. Bolt the door if you are really so paranoid about me. Though I have no idea why you’ll sleep out of doors with me but not in a damn inn, where it is pleasant.”

“People do not know me when I sleep in a lean-to. I sell – I sell beer to this in. The Sheriff’s cousin owns the place and if word gets out that I am sleeping with a strange man, I can already see his face.” Red with rage, chasing Stiles around the millhouse, Scott chasing him from the opposite direction.

“Fine, separate rooms. God am I dying for a bath.” Warm water, soap – maybe Stiles will loan out his nice smelling kind – a fire of his own. Derek assumed it was what heaven was like.

“Baths cost extra.” Stiles blurted out.

“I . Don’t. Care.” Derek gritted out. 

The league or two to Dorchester passed in silence, and Stiles tended to the horses in the barn as Derek went in to find them rooms. It was just as Stiles had settled in that Derek reappeared, a look of contrition on his face.

“They only have one room. Seems that some marriage is happening soon and the families came in from out of town.”

Stiles tipped a hand to Derek. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He went for the wet blanket in his saddle bag.

“Stiles, come on.” Derek said in a beseeching tone. “I promise this time I will not lay a hand on you. I cannot see you staying out here with the vermin while I’m safe and sound upstairs.”

“I know better than to trust that after the last two promises of the same have been broken.”

“I am true this time!”

“So you were untrue the last two times?’

“Not on purpose.” Derek groaned and leaned against a stall’s post. “You are being ridiculous. I can hear your teeth chattering, see you’re shivering underneath that cloak. And I bet your rib is hurting you. I can bind it inside.”

It was almost kind. Stiles groaned at himself for giving in. “I get the bed.”

Derek wanted to groan. “What are you so afraid of? Your brother?”

“Lord no. Scott might flay me for my insolence, but he would never kill me.”

“Then what is it? Are you afraid of me?” The knight pushed on.

Stiles pursed his lips. Was he afraid of his lone knight? Yes, but not in a terrified way. He knew deep down Bear would never hurt him. He was just worried that if he got into something with Bear, that, in a closed, private room, he would not want to stop.

“No. I am not. You don’t frighten me a bit.”

“Good. Because I have figured a way for the both of us to get into the inn without worry.” Derek stalked over to Stiles’ saddle bags and started to pull things out of them. He handed Stiles the lavender soap, but dug until he found a nice, embroidered, white cotton tunic and matching cotton breeches with a fine leather cord about them. “People know you for your … unusual taste in clothing and, I suppose, your loud prattling. If you put these on, and my cloak, I bet I could slip you in as my new husband. “

“Are you mental? That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Then give me another one that sounds just as smart. People will wonder, Stiles, why you slept in a barn and left with a strange man. There are many people out that have their horses in here, and I bet you sleeping out here with them would look silly. Just let me help you. Please.”

“Turn around.” Stiles grumbled as he took off his shirt and slid deep into the stall to put on the new tunic, kick his boots off and change pants. It took him a fair minute to peel his leather pants off and replace them with the well-made cotton pair. He put his boots back on and knocked some dried mud off of them, then rubbed his face and reappeared.

Derek did not have words, but instead extended his own cloak to Stiles. “To protect you from view. I am larger than you and it is warmer.”

Another bizarrely kind moment, but Stiles would take it.

He even calmly took Derek’s arm as they walked in quietly.

\--

The inn was full of life, the family of the couple to be loud and happy. However, everyone quieted when Derek’s presence filled the room. Stiles hid behind him, keeping his breath even and the hood over his head. These people – some he recognized, some new – did not know the knight, so they stared. 

No one even looked twice at Stiles. Not even Mistress Pitt, who knew Stiles quite well. She liked tender venison, and he liked good, honest coin. Though she did once call him the spawn of Satan for dragging mud throughout her kitchens that winter.

“This is my husband, Reginald.” Thank you for that, Bear. “I was told you were going to draw baths for both of us. My husband, well, he’s quite shy. A little bit of a city boy, I’m afraid.”

Stiles was going to kill him for this.

“I understand, Sir Knight. Someitmes a change of scenery can definitely change you. I’ll bring ‘im to your chamber scrubbed and as fresh as a daisy. Your own bath, Sir, has also been drawn.”

Stiles knew Bear was smiling, and he wished he could retort but it would be against the point.

Instead, Mistress Pitt pulled Stiles up the back stairs towards the Pitt’s own chambers. “I know that being married can be rough for the first couple a weeks, but I’m sure he’ll stop being so … gruff eventually, lad.” She pushed the door open to her home and Stiles noticed the steaming pot of water. He gripped the soap that he had grabbed earlier into his hand.

When Mistress Pitt went for his cloak strings, Stiles stumbled back and shielded himself with the hood of the cloak. It smelled like firewood and rain. It was comforting.

“Ah, so I see, you’re a never nude sort of person. I’ll just leave you to it then, honey. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me. My servant will be around by the time the water cools to help you.

Stiles nodded frantically. This seemed to please the innkeeper’s wife, who left very softly. After he was sure she was gone, he shed the cloak and barred the door. He hung his finer clothes over a chair and then slid into the bath water. 

He rarely had baths at home, so this was a treat. He rubbed himself down thoroughly with soap, the smells of home comforting him. He felt all of the dirty and even the ache from his side going away. It was so civilized to bathe, though the water went cold within ten minutes of being in the bath. 

Stiles waited until he knew that it was going away from lukewarm and into frozen territory before he stepped out. He picked up a linen towel from the side of the tub, warm from the fire’s embers, and rubbed himself down. He was wondering how to dry his hair when a knock came at the door. 

Stiles slid up against the wall and waited for a voice. 

Another knock came at the door. “Master? It’s me, Peggy. May I please come in?”

Stiles sighed and unbolted the door, peeking out to just find Peggy and ushering her in. Stiles himself had never met Peggy – she must be new – and sighed as she turned to start emptying the basin into smaller buckets. Stiles pulled his socks and pants on, then turned. 

“Do you need anything?” Stiles shook his head. “Are you sure? Your hair looks a little shaggy. I’m right good with a blade, got three brothers meself and I can trim it up for you.” She looked so eager.

Stiles sat down and gestured to her. She ran a comb easily through his hair, then trimmed the fringe that had started to grow in his eyes, the hair above his ear and across the back of his neck. It felt nice, her hand steady as she trimmed him.

Afterward, she reached down underneath the chair and handed Stiles something. After turning it around a bit, he caught a reflection of pale skin and moles on it. 

“It’s a mirror.” Peggy shared conspiratorially. “It cost a fortune but Mistress had to have it. It’s the only one in the village.

Stiles looked at himself fully for the first time. He was not all bad looking, and the combing and styling job Peggy had done made him look a tad less young than he assumed his shaggy hair did. He sighed and handed it back to Peggy.

“Mistress Pitt said after you were done, I needed to take you back to your room.”

Stiles nodded and pulled his tunic back on, adjusting it a little. He then pulled on the cloak and carefully hung it over his head. He then nodded to Peggy, who led him down the stairs and then up into the main lodging area. Stiles was familiar with this part of the inn. He had stayed here plenty a time when the Pitts had naught to give him for recompense for a stag. 

Peggy knocked on the door to the largest room. A gruff voice called for them to wait, and Stiles imagined they had caught the knight at a moment of privacy at the chamber pot. This caused Stiles to chuckle as the door opened.

They must be awfully lost. This man in front of them was not Sir Lawrence of Caterbury but a younger, more vigorous knight. He had no shirt, though a chest full of hair and a face that would make him barely past Scott’s age. This stranger had no beard, instead a clean chin with a set of razor sharp cheekbones and a pair full lips. His hair was no longer to his neck but in a clean cut similar to what Stiles knew he had atop his own head.

His neck was thickly corded with tendons, this stranger, as were his arms and his chest. The hair on his chest thinned around his belly button and then thickened around the loose draw of his trousers. 

This man was stunning, one Julia Hale would love to sink her claws into. A work of art, like those Stiles had heard of in faraway countries.

They surely had the wrong room, and Stiles stumbled back. “We have the wrong room, I am so sorry, Sir…”

“Nay, tis the right room. Mistress gave me this number.”

The stranger, whose eyes went a familiar green, chuckled. Bear then grabbed Stiles’ arm and wrenched him close to his own body. Stiles was face to face with a dark, taut nipple. “A man shaves and his own husband doesn’t recognize him.”

Peggy laughed awkwardly. 

Now Stiles knew he must escape. This kind of man Stiles would have given a wide berth. He was handsome and wealthy and young. He was no prisoner. 

Stiles squirmed. 

“Thank you for helping him get here. My husband, he needs a great deal of help.”

Peggy nodded. “Mistress says he’ll get over it.” Then she walked away, and Bear pulled them into the room.

It had a nice, homey feel to it, the bed made nicely and Bear’s boots in front of the fire.

“Have you lost your senses?” Bellowed Bear as Stiles stood there, motionless. “You, with all of your worries, almost got us caught.” Stiles watched the flames spark in the fire, still a little lost. “Did Mistress Pitt recognize you? Stiles, are you okay?”

It was with sincerity in those words that Stiles’ knees buckled and he dropped onto the seat in front of the hearth. He quickly took the elder’s cloak off, spreading it evenly out. 

He then had a tankard of ale shoved in his face. He took it mechanically.

“It’s Erica’s Ale, the best in the inn, Mistress said. I take it that it’s your sister Erica, then?” With no response, Derek meandered on. “God, it felt so nice to have a bath, a shave and a haircut. I feel like a new man. And if no one recognized you, then no one will care.” He nudged at Stiles until he could place a tray of food in front of them. Derek then began to eat. “And you clean up well. Why you look like you yourself could be an earl, or the husband of…”

Stiles looked up in shock. How did he know?

But Derek kept going. He ate a piece of bread with a slathering of cheese on top, then continued. “There’s plenty of food, help yourself. This bread is divine, the cheese the same. There are carrots and turnips and parsnips, too …”

“Why did you shave?” Stiles asked. He then realized he had been just sitting there, so he picked up a piece of bread and shoved it into his mouth. It was free food.

“Why did I shave?” Derek reclined onto his elbows, stretching out in front of Stiles. “Well, I wanted to stop looking like a demented hermit. Why, do you miss it?” He rubbed his chin. 

“It made you look much older.” Was the only response Stiles could come up with. 

“I supposed I looked it, with my hair and my beard. Don’t worry, it’ll be back in full force by next week.”

“I won’t see you next week though. You’ll be in Caterbury and I’ll be at home, if all goes well.”

Derek’s eyes went solemn. “I see.”

“I’ve only ever visited Caterbury once, and knowing you’ll be paid for sooner rather than later, I doubt we’ll see each other. Me, doing my thing and you, doing yours.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Derek drained the rest of his tankard then. “So I suppose you’ll be marrying that Boyd, then.”

Stiles almost spat out his carrot. “What do you mean?”

“Well you said you were going to go live with him, and after a while you’d be common law married as it were. “

Stiles snorted. “It is not me he is interested in.”

“But most people are interested in marriage, and you are of a marriageable age, so why not?”

“I’ve already tried that.”

“Tried what?”

“Marriage.” Stiles answered, eating another carriage.

Derek leaned back up. “You’ve been married before?”

“Only for a day.”

Derek snorted. It would be Stiles’ luck. “What, did the poor lad or miss run away from you?”

“No. She died.”

“I don’t understand this. How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen and a widower. I am sorry.”

“I am not. I did not love her. She died, and I was sad about it, but that was all. I have no taste for it, anyways.”

“What, marriage?” Derek was dumbfounded. Most people, that’s all they thought about.

“Yeah. I’ll never try again.”

“Ever ever?” Derek was befuddled.

“I cannot have children, nor do I want to have any squalling babies around my house. I already have three sisters’ worth, and probably my brother’s as well. I come from a big family, I’ve already been around too many babies.”

“So was your marriage arraigned?”

“If you mean I had no other choice, then yes. I married for reasons I loathed.”

“People marry for other things besides love, Stiles.”

“Don’t you think I know that? People of your stature, they marry for power or for money or for more land. People in my family, we marry for love. I’ve seen three out of five so far.” His voice cracked. “I, of course, had to be the failure.”

“And you don’t think you’ll ever fall in love?” Derek said, his hands tracing a pattern on the floor. Stiles’ eyes fell to them, then back up to Derek’s. He shook his head, softly.

He could love this knight, probably. He was headstrong but funny, knew how to press the right buttons but also apologize. He made Stiles laugh, for all it was worth. Was that love? 

He knew not.

“What about you, Bear? Will you marry?”

“Most assuredly. I need to continue the lineage I have.”

“Will you marry for love?”

“That remains to be seen.” Derek said, standing up to refill his ale. “Would you?” Stiles waved him off. “I, however, have plenty of money, so I won’t marry for that.”

“I know that to be the truth. I see you waving it around everywhere.”

“Yes, it’s a bad habit I have. If I see something I want, I’ll spend any amount to get it.” Derek sunk back to the floor.

Stiles knew that to be the truth too. Bear had probably passed Mistress Pitt two gold coins for all of this finery. Derek blew at the foam on top of the tankard and Stiles yawned. 

After Derek finished his ale and Stiles had begun to list to his side, Derek stood up and took the food tray outside. He bolted the door shut and returned quietly to his captor. “I asked for the Mistress to bring up cloth straps for your injury. May I bind it before bed?” The knight asked politely, and Stiles shrugged. Twas useless to fight at this point. 

Stiles stood and shed his shirt. “Bear?”

“Yes?”

“Did you like the beer?”

Derek smiled as he unwound the cloth. “Best brew I’ve ever tasted, and I mean that honestly.”

Stiles stood in front of the window of the room as Derek meandered his way over. It was a rare thing to see a window, made of wavy, expensive glass, and Stiles could see his reflection once again. He looked tall and thin, much like a lordling, and almost regal. The brocade of gold and silver on his tunic made him look vaguely Greek, and his skin was a creamy pale to match.

Derek appeared from his right side. Stiles put up his arms and Derek’s fingers wrapped the cloth gently around Stiles’ torso. Stiles sighed into it. It felt nice; finger pads dragging across bare skin, his ribs feeling more whole than they had in almost forty eight hours. It was warm and homey.

After Derek had secured it, his fingers danced cautiously over the bandage. “Stiles, I know that I promised not to come on to you again, not to touch you. But I – ‘

Stiles turned, and he wasn’t at all certain at what happened next. The only thing he knew is that he and his Bear were kissing, fierce, passionate kisses that marked every inch of Stiles’ lips, his skin, his soul. Stiles knew there was no stopping this, not this time. The knight’s arms trapped Stiles close to his partner’s body, his abdominals pressed against Stiles’ less defined stomach.

They were safe in a room at an inn without any hints of their whereabouts. They were both clean cut, smelled nice, and had bellies full of food. They also had all night.

Derek pulled back, a question in his eyes, and Stiles tilted his neck in answer. The knight’s mouth flew over the cords in the younger’s neck, tracing them down to a collarbone. His kisses lit a path and then bit a love bite into being across the deep collarbone of the younger. They both gasped. Stiles knew, in that moment, that it was truly love that he had found with this insufferable knight.

When a hand went for his nice, cotton trousers, it seemed that the knight came to his senses. Yet, before he could start on the code of chivalry or something equally as obnoxious, Stiles grit out a “Not now, man,” and reeled the elder back in.

This allowed Derek to pick him up and carefully deposit him on the bed. Derek pulled the younger’s boots up and off, followed by his socks. He kissed the arch of a foot, then laughed as Stiles wriggled. “That tickles.”

Derek snickered and went for the strings of his breeches. He pulled them down without ceremony and a part of Stiles that only he and his family had seen before popped free. It was angry, a dark red, and smacked his belly once, twice, before a hand got on it.

“Oh my god.” Stiles grit out as Derek squeezed him. “What are you doing?”

“Do you dislike it, baby?” The voice of the older man growled into his ear.

“No, I like it just fine.” Stiles replied, his sarcasm fleeing alongside his brain. He had, of course, taken himself in hand, but the feeling of another rubbing his fluids against his private part made him shiver. 

Derek dropped his head and kissed around Stiles’ chest as he pulled Stiles off. He bit at a nipple, which caused a stir, then at the opposing collarbone as Stiles wreathed below him. 

“Bear.” Stiles called out, and Derek wished he hadn’t had to give a false name. He wanted Stiles to call his real name. “Bear, what are we doing?”

“Whatever you like.” Derek answered, and, while Stiles thought, divested himself of his braies and nicked something from the side table. Stiles’ brain had still not come online, so he sat there as Derek dribbled something onto his own fingers, then went back to playing with Stiles.

Stiles, who was looking at Derek’s own appendage. It was quite a bit larger than Stiles’ own, both in diameter and length, but not by much. Stiles could fit a fist around it at least, and did so while the knight fiddled with whatever he had. 

A punched out moan came from above him and Stiles wanted to laugh in glee. Two could play such a game. He teased sounds out of his lover until he felt a press of a finger against something no one had ever seen before. 

“What is that?” He gasped at the intrusion.

“Don’t worry overmuch. Just feel, Stiles.” The knight said, dipping his head back down to the nipple he had left alone. 

Stiles relaxed as Derek wiggled his fingers around interestingly. Another was added and Stiles wanted to balk but his own member was on fire. He groaned into the sensations, and only when a third was added and a certain spot hit did he understand what was to happen. 

They were going to become one, and Stiles was interested in taking it further. Sure, he had been a prude – and would be a prude, unless Bear blabbed to whomever could hear – but this felt good.

“Keep going,” he groaned out, “put it in me.”

The fingers stopped for a moment. “What?”

“Don’t stop, idiot. I’ve got the idea, now put it in me before I go find someone who –“ Derek slid his own member inside, “will. God yes.”

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, and earned a smack on the chest for his troubles. 

“Yes, just move.” Stiles groaned into Derek’s chest. Derek complied, rocking back and forth until they both felt satisfaction. “Keep going.” Stiles groaned, and it wasn’t until Derek felt nails cut into the meat of his back that he truly let go, pushing into Stiles with abandon.

It was a surprise that Stiles came first, his face wide open in shock, his mouth a perfect o. He listened to Bear say sweet words until he joined Stiles in the little paradise that they had both created. 

The first words out of Bear’s mouth were, “Did I hurt you, Stiles?”

“Hurt me? Most certainly not. I know that you are quite bigger than me in all manners of the word, but I figured it out. And I liked it. So there, I am not a prude.”

Derek made a sound not unlike one a horse makes. “You are a miracle of nature, you know that? So wild and fierce, yet so passionate and loving and interested in peoples lives…”

“You are getting me sticky. Move.” Derek groaned but pulled out easily, flopping to the side of the bed. “Are you tired?” Stiles asked, yawning again. It seemed as if the yawns were not to go away. 

When Bear didn’t respond, he turned and found his partner already asleep. Stiles snorted, then got up and blew out the candle that was lit, returning to bed afterwards with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all didn't find the love scene sucky! It was awkward to write and I feel like I may have done a bad job of it. 
> 
> <333


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their night at the inn, Stiles and Derek finally return to Stephensgate. What awaits them there is a surprise to all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I decided to combine two chapters, which took forever. This book is almost 400 pages long, and I'm only on 200. Jesus save me.
> 
> Again, this chapter is explicit, so this is a heads up! But the whole family returns, which is fun. 
> 
> As always, drop me a line if you like it! You all make it worth writing. <333

Derek was amused the next morning when Stiles, waking slowly next to him, attempted to throw himself from the bed when he realized where he was and that he was naked. Sadly for him, in his sleep Derek had gotten a first grasp on Stiles’ ass.

“Unhand me, cad.”

Derek snorted. “Cad? That’s new.”

Stiles, through sleepy eyes, glared at him. “I …” He trailed off as he seemed to remember the night before. Derek waited patiently. “I had a moment of weakness, last night.”

“Would you like another?” Derek said.

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it, pursing his lips. He tried to shift around but was instead trapped in bed. “I’m actually kind of sore?” Stiles looked away.

Derek shrugged, his shoulder knocking into Stiles’ head. “It’s okay. There are more things to do than that.”

Stiles looked at him quizzically, and Derek grinned and pulled Stiles atop of him.

Virgins, Derek mused as he began to pull sounds out of Stiles he hadn’t heard the night before, weren’t as bad as he had made them out to be. Once you convince them that it is okay, they seem to fling themselves into the arms of passion. Perhaps it was just Stiles though. Derek doubted that because it was Stiles’ first time with a lover that he was so into it. Stiles seemed to really care about what was happening, his big eyes searching Derek’s before he did something new, and Stiles was engaged. He was aware of Derek – he wasn’t just taking and waiting for more like some of his past lovers, Stiles wanted to explore.

It thrilled Derek that he had found someone that was so enthralled with him. 

Although Stiles didn’t know that Derek was, well, Derek. Or that his name was Derek at all, judging by the fact he kept calling out that dumb nickname Laura had given him.

Before Derek could get more into his thoughts, Stiles distracted him for a fair few minutes.

When Derek got his mind back, he found Stiles grinning at him, his eyes filled with mirth and self-satisfaction. As if Stiles had somehow won a competition he had with Derek, or even with himself. 

Derek was reminded that later that day, they would both be returning home. He would have to tell Stiles eventually, before he was unceremoniously dumped upon Sister Erica, that he was the Earl. He doubted Stiles would care overmuch, but it still mattered. Plus it gave both siblings a place to go for the ransom.

Yet Derek found he didn’t want to go home alone. While Stiles was clearly all male, what Derek had done, in Derek’s mind, had made Stiles unmarriageable to anyone else. Sure, Stiles had been married once before, but he didn’t seem too keen on whomever left him a widower, and Derek felt Stiles had lost a lot of chances at love because he was a widower.

Derek wanted to guarantee no one else would pull their head out of their ass and court Stiles. Or that Stiles would court anyone else. 

Just Derek. Of course, Stiles might not want to be lord of a manor, considering he had little skills that the husband of an earl would need … But Derek could always hire someone. Not his sister though – Erica didn’t seem very helpful. 

Derek was again struck from his missives by Stiles touching him. Instead of coming closer, Stiles was attempting to get out of Derek’s arms. When Derek squeezed again, Stiles thrashed.

“In case you have forgotten, we have a deadline. I must be home by tonight, and I suppose since you haven’t left, running for the hills, that you’re coming with me.” Derek’s chest puffed out a little bit, but Stiles rolled his eyes. “It must be close to noon, and we still have a few more hours to go before we hit Stephensgate.”

Derek sadly released Stiles, who popped out of bed and shook his whole body quickly, as if releasing excess energy. Derek watched him clean his belly off with a cloth left by the proprietress, and then flung it at Derek. He caught it in mid-air, cleaning off his lower stomach while Stiles meandered about the room, searching for his clothing and then dressing efficiently. Derek was actually kind of sad that Stiles was sliding into his cotton trousers, though they were much more logical then the too tight leather braies. 

By the time Derek had decided to get out of bed, Stiles was fiddling with one of his boots.

“It doesn’t fit because it’s mine.” Derek said as Stiles pulled the laces overtight. Stiles shot him a nasty look, but removed the shoe anyway and scoured the room as Derek pulled on his own clothes haphazardly. He wasn’t he one in disguise here anyway. 

After dressing, eating quickly from the tray outside of the door, and Derek leaving two gold pieces on the tray in recompense, they set off. The inn itself was slowly stirring to life, as there was noise from the kitchen, so Stiles had the hood pulled tight to his face until they reached the horses. He then took Derek’s cloak off and flung it at the older man, choosing instead to rub his horse down with his hands and speak sweet words to her, as if she had been left in the hands of an idiot. 

It was a lovely day outside though, the rain from the day before gone, leaving the sky a bright blue. Stiles was in a great mood, prattling on about how they had gotten the good bread out of the morning batch, how he was glad their horses were safe and how happy he was that no one had recognized Blueberry. Admittedly the mare was good looking, but Derek was sure there had to be other blue roans around.

Stiles just had to be paranoid.

After a few hours, Stiles complained that his pants were getting tangled in his gear, so they both dismounted and Stiles ran into a hayrack to change into his offensive pants. It was only until he wandered out in the tight fitting garment that Derek realized how silly it was of him to object. If Stiles was so deadest on getting home by tonight, it was the last look for a while that Derek would get of that backside while they were alone. When they got to Stephensgate, everything would change.

This reminder led Derek to fall into the hay and drag Stiles with him. They didn’t make love, but it was a close thing. Only the howls of hunting dogs stopped them, and even then Stiles found it hilarious that Derek was so keyed up about simple dogs. 

It was barely an hour’s ride left to Stephensgate, and Stiles took the time to point out little nooks and crannies that were keystones of Derek’s lands. His memories of his youth had been tainted by bad memories of his family, of little things he hadn’t learned how to let go, but seeing all of his lands through Stiles’ eyes made it easier. However, his main village looked smaller to his eyes, all of the houses and the people older and thinner. Perhaps this is what starvation looks like, he mused to himself. Or maybe it’s because I’ve grown five inches and fifty pounds. Derek was sure he looked the picture of health to these people, who took one look at Stiles and rolled their eyes.

Stiles named them all and even pointed out, with vey unkind words, the local prostitute’ house on the edge of town. Unlike Stiles, Derek had very fond memories of her, though he wasn’t sure how she was keeping up her business at such an old age.

The Sheriff’s office had gotten larger though, with several cottages being added behind his family’s own. Stiles added morosely how he would probably end up in one of those, living with Boyd, his only friend. 

Derek officially did not like this Boyd.

Stiles also added about how, if he wasn’t such a miscreant, would like to be a deputy one day. He was still young, and had a reputation, but many changed their ways. Derek only nodded along. 

Eventually they turned the corner to the millhouse, and Derek hummed in appreciation. It was beautiful, a fresh coat of paint obvious from the summer before, and flowers surrounded the house, climbing up the walls and around the floorboard.

What else was in front of the house was a man with large arms and a sideways jaw and three women, two with their arms crossed in front of them in anger, the final one wringing her hands in anxiety.

Stiles jumped off of the horse at the sight of them, clearly happy to see his family and ignoring the anger pouring off of three of them. The one with yellow hair, Erica, his mind supplied, ran towards Stiles. He picked her up off of the ground and shook her with a hug. This led to a pool of tears. “Tis all my fault, Stiles! Will you ever forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what?” Stiles said, hands on his hips. His eyes popped up and raked over all of his siblings, who each wore a mad face. “Neither of us have done anything wrong.”

Between one moment and the next, an older man approached Stiles. He was a sandy blond with big blue eyes, and Stiles hugged him joyfully. The man rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked up in amusement anyway.

“Son,” oh, this must be the Sheriff himself then, “I think it’s best if you explain what’s going on and who this … man is.”

“This is Sir Lawrence Fitzwilliam of Caterbury. He’s my prisoner – I mean, Erica’s prisoner. I have no need for one.” Stiles stepped back with an awkward laugh.

“Why would Erica need one?” Scott asked, and both of the men named John snorted.

“Not the point, Scott. The point is that there is no one by that name that has ever lived in Caterbury. This man,” the Sheriff pointed vaguely at Derek, “doesn’t exist. Matthew Fairchild,” Stiles looked over the Sheriff’s shoulder to see if he could find the man in question, “thought he didn’t smell something quite right, so he came to me last night. I rode to Caterbury this morning. Truly, Stiles, I wouldn’t lie.”

Stiles’ face scrunched up, then turned to Derek. His face read betrayal. “Who are you?”

Derek rolled his eyes and got off of his own horse, dusting himself off briefly before approaching the Sheriff and Stiles. He offered the Sheriff his hand, which the older gentleman shook begrudgingly, and afterwards nudged Stiles. “Go to your family.”

“I am not a child, you cannot tell me what to do.” Stiles replied petulantly. This caused a bout of laughter from the Sheriff. “Plus, I do not trust you with my – my Sheriff, stranger.”

“Stiles, please.” Derek went to lay a hand on Stiles, but he pulled away. “Please, just let me explain to the Sheriff what is going on. This’ll be sorted out soon.”

Stiles went to say something, but then two burly arms wrapped around his body and moved him to behind who Derek assumed was Scott. “Do not treat my brother with contempt, you hooligan!” He had drawn his sword, and Derek pulled his own and had gone into a defensive position before he realized what he had done. He had over ten years of fighting experience, and he matched the miller in brawn. 

“You may heap the blame upon me, Brother Scott, but do not touch Stiles like that. He is not the sibling that is guilty of something lascivious, and you’d know that if you paid a speck of attention to anyone besides yourself and your precious Allison.”

Derek heard a gasp and the sound of someone pushing forward, only to squabble with the familiar voice of the Sheriff.

“What did you say to me?” Stiles’ brother’s face went red with anger.

“You heard me, Scott. And never lay a hand upon him again.”

“He’s my brother!” Scott went to slash Derek, but Stiles grabbed him around the waist in time.

“He’s going to be my husband.”

This caused both brothers to tumble to the ground.

“What!” They said simultaneously, then looked at each other. “I didn’t agree to this, did you?” They asked one another, and Derek saw that though Stiles thought some negative things about his eldest sibling, he and Scott were more alike than not.

Scott then stood up, Stiles on the ground. “Well, now that it is solved that Stiles will not marry you, you best be on your way, Sir … whomever you are. You’ll marry him over my dead body.” Scott’s chest puffed out for effect. Derek was sure if this wasn’t about Stiles, the young man would have laughed at this behavior.

“That can be arranged, Crais.” Derek said, his voice going deep.

“Don’t I – “ Stiles started, but then the Sheriff stepped in, gripping both men by their shoulders.

“Well, gentlemen, there is one way to settle this. Stiles, did he touch you?”

Stiles frowned. “Not more than most, no.”

“Did he harm you in any way?”

“Him personally, no. His horse, on the other hand …” Stiles shot a death glare at the horse. 

The Sheriff snorted. He released Scott, who stumbled back a few paces, defensively over Stiles. Between his brother and his surrogate father, Derek could see why Stiles got away with poaching. He was well loved. “Now, my final question is for you, sir. Who the devil are you?”

Derek straightened up, rising to his full heigh. “I am Lord Theoderek Hale, seventh Earl of Stephensgate, recently returned from imprisonment in Acre to take over my lands.”

Derek expected respect from all of the vassals in front of him. What he wasn’t expecting was for Stiles to pop up at full speed and punch Derek square in the jaw. It actually hurt as well. After the hook, Stiles then stomped on his foot and screamed like a banshee, then ran into his house. Erica was hot on his heels, shrugging miserably at Derek before running after her brother.

As Derek caught his bearings again, he found Brother Scott and the Sheriff leaning on each other, laughing as if Derek getting punched was funnier than anything they’d ever seen. He turned to find his vassals slapping each other on the back, one on the ground in laughter, and turning back to the millhouse, who he assumed were Malia and Lydia were leaning on each other on the verge of tears, pointing at Derek and giggling hysterically. 

“What is so funny?” Derek roared, which caused another outburst of laughter, Scott wheezing into the Sheriff’s shoulder. Apparently Derek was a joke.

The Sheriff recovered first. He looked Derek straight in the face, but then cracked up as soon as he started to talk. “Sorry about that.”

“Do you not believe me?” Derek asked, impatient. His jaw hurt and he felt a fool.

“No, of course not. You look more like Lady Laura than even Peter does. That isn’t what anyone finds amusing.”

Derek snorted out of his nose, an angry sound. “Will you then enlighten me? I do not find a marriage proposal a joke.”

Derek heard another body fall to the floor in laughter, and Derek was going to put them all in the stocks. He did not care if that would be a bad first impression. He hated being the butt of any joke.

“Well, truly it tis the fact you think you’ll be marrying Stiles, if you must know.” He barked out a few more laughs, then straightened his face. “Sorry, I know you don’t find it funny. Do you truly not know why we all find this so funny?”

Derek felt the rage take bloom again, his hands flexing. He was almost tempted to run through the crowd of laughter, find Stiles, grab him and flee out a window with him. He could probably make the jump safely from a second story window. However, he controlled himself. “I honestly do not know.”

“Stiles told you he is a widower, did he not?” Derek nodded his head curtly. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course not. Is this why it is so funny? I pay no mind to that.”

“But he didn’t tell you who he was married to?” Derek shook his head violently. “He probably wouldn’t, worst day of his life.” Suddenly the laughter died down, and Brother Scott’s face had gone from amusement to pity. 

“Well, who the hell was he married to? Jesus himself?”

The Sheriff sighed. “M’Lord, he was married to your sister.”

\--

A clean pair of clothes, a good cry and a half hour later, Stiles had returned to the anger that he originally felt when Bear – Lord Theoderek, whatever – had revealed himself. Twas a cruel trick, no if ands or buts about it, and Stiles did not intend to stay long. He had a bag of his belongings packed, and he was waiting for an opportune moment to jump out of the window, onto the kitchen roof, then into the bale of hay he had for this exact reason. Normally it was the idea of having to escape Peter Hale, but this too was a good reason to use his escape route.

However, he could not leave Erica in this state. She had forced him to change into a nice, dark green tunic and chocolate brown trousers, leaving him in his socks as she had washed his face of tears and then brushed his hair. Once again, he felt like a little lordling as she did this. Twas not his style, and the pants were tight in the wrong places, but he amused her.

It did not help that ten minutes in, Lydia and Malia appeared. Lydia made him change into a more elaborate tunic, the same color but with heavier embroidery, and Malia began to stare at Erica. Malia unnerved people on their best of days, so whatever she wanted from Erica would come out sooner or later. However, she began to comment on the situation once Stiles had laid down in his bed, crushing his face into his favorite pillow. It had been a gift from Erica, his torn shirts mended together into a pillow, then filled with goose feathers and lavender. He was sad to leave it behind when he would flee. 

“Twas a nasty trick he played on you, little brother.” Malia commented from her chair near the door. “You cannot blame him though.”

“Aye, how was he supposed to know about the Lady Laura?” Erica added, her big eyes wide, “That poor man – “

“That poor man was nothing. He should have told Stiles, especially since that was his way of finding the person to pay his ransom, Erica. Stiles didn’t even need that money!” Lydia exclaimed from where she brushed Erica’s hair from its tangles. “Besides, he seemed firm on marrying Stiles, perhaps the sight of Stiles in those leather braies drove him to distraction.” Stiles snorted into his pillow. “You do have a nice backside, Stiles.”

“Wonderful.”

“But he should have been honest!” Erica piped in. “He is an earl! Our earl.”

“He is still a man, Erica. Sorry, Stiles.” Stiles waved a hand in a ‘no offense taken’ gesture. “As we all know, men are men first and their positions second. Well, most of them.” Lydia added, a tilt to her head. “Obviously he enjoyed Stiles’ company, or he would have escaped. He is a bit larger than you, brother mine.”

Eric leaned forward, curling in on herself. “Tis all my fault.”

“Clearly.” Malia stated. “This is your fault entirely, Erica. Spending your dowry on trinkets and tokens, not even thinking of the future. Whoever heard of such a thing? I’m ashamed to admit that I’m related to you.” Erica stood up and flung herself onto the larger bed. 

Lydia moved to Stiles’ bed, brushing his hair with her fingers. “Stiles, if I may …” Stiles sighed in agreement, “ You and the earl didn’t do anything … improper? I mean, it matters less because you are a man, but it still would cause a stir.”

Stiles scowled and buried his head into his pillow.

Malia laughed. “Don’t be a good, Lydia. Stiles would never have let him get so far.” All of his sisters knew Stiles to be a prude.”

“He would if he intends to marry Stiles, like he said downstairs.” The two older sisters laughed at the youngest.

“Erica, I’m pretty sure Stiles would rather live in a tree for the rest of his life than marry Lord Theoderek.”

Suddenly there was a lot of thumping downstairs, and Malia slipped quickly out the door to investigate. Stiles took this time to pull a blanket over himself and try to make himself one with the bed. He heard Lydia move over to Erica’s bed and the sound of the brush combing through wild hair.

It was ten minutes later that Malia burst back in the room, her hair wild. “I cannot that man wants to marry you, Stiles! What a fuss he is kicking up. It is beyond funny. He wants you to come down and sit with the men immediately, or he’ll put every Crais or in-law to one in the stocks!”

Stiles snorted. “I still have no motivation to go.”

“So he still wants to marry Stiles?” Erica sat up, her face red with tears and a bit of dried snot.

“Of course he does, why the hell else would he be stomping around, demanding things?”

“Scott can’t deny him…” Erica said, looking at Stiles.

“You all know my feelings on this matter, and my feelings are – no way. I will jump out of this window before that ever happens. I would rather marry Boyd. I would rather marry Peter at this point – at least he does not lie about who he is.”

Lydia made a face and then gestured at Malia. “Well, tell us what they said.”

Malia perched on the end of Stiles’ bed, as if she was a bird of prey waiting to attack. “So, I went downstairs the usual way,” jumping off of the bannister and tiptoeing to wherever she wanted to go, “then Ennis told me to leave, we argued a little, blah blah.” Malia flicked her hand around her face, as if it was nothing new, “then I overheard the Sheriff telling Milord how Stiles and the Lady Laura met –“

Stiles stuffed his head underneath his pillow.

“The Sheriff was telling him? Why wasn’t Scott?” Lydia asked, confused.

“Scott was too busy trying to kill Milord by chugging a tankard of ale.”

“Ale!” Lydia cried. “They are drinking at this hour?”

“Lord Theoderek demanded a barrel of Erica’s Ale be opened. May I finish?” Malia sniped, and Lydia huffed at her. “So, as the Sheriff described how Lady Laura came upon Stiles bathing at the Spring, and was so besotted that she followed him right up to the gate of the millhouse, Lord Theoderek grew quite red in the face and drained his tankard. Then the Sheriff told him about how Scott did everything he could think of to keep Stiles at home, because he did nothing but mope over the prospect of becoming Laura’s husband. But nothing dissuaded Laura, and she gave a feudal order, on sheepskin, to tell Scott it was either Stiles or the millhouse –“

Stiles kicked his feet and groaned. Lydia leaned over and smacked his feet. “Shut up, we’re listening.”

Stiles stuck his head outside of the comforts of his cocoon. “Can’t you retell this story elsewhere?”

“No. Continue.”

“Well, you can tell Milord was quite shocked to see how his sister behaved. He even spat out his ale on Matthew Fairchild,” Stiles chuckled at the thought, “but when Milord got his wits about him, the Sheriff assured him it was true, and Stiles prepared for his wedding night like it was a funeral.”

Stiles burrowed deeper, and, noticing what was going on, Erica climbed around Lydia and got into bed with him. “Could you please skip the dramatics, you know how much he hates hearing this story. Especially because he, unlike you, was the one to experience it!”

Erica had her moments. 

“Anyway, the Sheriff told Lord Theoderek about how his sister and Stiles were wed and blah blah blah, lovely wedding overall, blah blah, then they went up to bed and then …” Malia looked at Stiles as if she was sorry she had to tell this part. “Then the Sheriff told Milord about how as he was leaving for his own home, Stiles came screaming down the stairs about how Lady Laura was dead. You should have seen Milord’s face, it was white as snow. ‘Dead?’ Milord said, and the Sheriff confirmed it. Blah blah, they went upstairs and found Lady Laura unruffled and dead as a doornail, blah blah, then went into how Peter Hale had immediately accused Stiles of poisoning her.”

“What did he say to that?” Stiles sat up and demanded. “Was he disgusted?” Stiles hoped he was.

“He looked the Sheriff in the eye and said, in that deep voice of his, - he really is quite handsome, Stiles – almost a growl, if I think about it now. It is quite wonderful, if he was not interested in you …”

“Malia!” Stiles cried, and she laughed.

“Dead on. Anyway, he said, ‘No one would really think that Stiles Crais could possibly poison anyone, even if he did loathe them’, and the Sheriff agreed that you clearly had naught to do with her death, that it was a very sad thing, blah blah. They talked about how no poison was ever found and no one else died, we’d all eaten the same food, blah blah, how Lady Laura had been weakened by the same fever we lost his parents to, blah blah.”

“Hurry up, Malia.” Stiles huffed.

“Fine.” She gritted out, bearing her teeth, “Well, His Lordship talked about how no one actually believed it, and the Sheriff said Peter did, remember how Julia kept calling us sisters of a murderer? Like that bitch can talk, she’s such a slut.”

“Not the point!” Erica cried, but all of her siblings rolled their eyes at her.

“You are one of three people on God’s green Earth that likes that wench, and that includes Julia herself. A crueler heart never walked this planet. Blah blah, the Hales pressed on in the investigation until Deaton declared the marriage annulled, because of lack of consummation, and that was the quick end to that. But then Milord said something strange.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“He said, ‘You mean Stiles didn’t get his third?’” Stiles snorted. Of course that man would be focused on money instead of Stiles’ feelings. “The Sheriff confirmed that, so all of the estate fell to the other Hales, since no one expected him to come back. He drained his tankard at that. He then stated that he thinks his uncle may have murdered Laura and tried to make it look like you did, so you’d get beheaded and he’d get the estate. Strange man, eh?” Malia elbowed him in the rib. 

“Ow!” His sisters looked at him. “I have a bruise there.”

“And I’ve had two children. Get over it. Blah blah blah, they talked about Stiles protecting the serfs like he was the liege lord, then Milord said it was good Stiles had gotten into that habit, seeing as he would need to keep it up when they were married.”

“WHAT?” Stiles screamed. She had to be joking.

“You sound just like Scott. That’s exactly what he said. Then Milord said, ‘I’ll marry him if he’ll have me.’ Scott said, ‘Good luck’ and Milord said ‘Thank you’. Then Scott almost went over the table, but Ennis grabbed him, luckily. He’s finally good for something besides eating and babymaking – anyway, not the point. I mean, at least it wasn’t some pretty boy minstrel asking for his sister’s hand –“

Erica flung herself into Stiles’ pillows. 

“Then Scott said, ‘That was a joke, over my dead body will he marry you’, and Milord said, ‘If you won’t stop with this idiocy, I’ll put you in the stockade, you have worse things to worry about’, to which Scott sighed and sat back. They were arguing about something else, but Scott seemed resigned to let Stiles make his own choice. He even said, ‘It’s up to Stiles’ and Milord grinned. They even shook on it. I’m surprised you’re not down there yourself, arguing with the rest of them. You are a fully grown man.”

“I just don’t wish to see that cad.” Stiles sniffed out, his nose pointed in the air.

“You are such a primadonna.” Lydia commented.

“Like you’re any better.” Malia answered back, and they both stuck their tongues out at each other.

“Stiles, it could be worse. At least he is handsome, and has money, and seems to be interested in you. You’re at least interested in him, right?”

“I thought he was a stranger when I liked him. I’d never have to see him again, it was just a casual flirtation. Now he’s here permanently and he is Lady Laura’s brother. How am I supposed to feel? ‘Oh yes, sisters mine, I am jumping for joy, let me go jump into this liar’s arms so I can live a lifestyle I’ve never wanted’? Does that sound like me?”

“What does that matter? He’s the loveliest man I’ve ever seen.” Erica exclaimed.

“You’re right. I’d not begrudge him a place in my bed.” Lydia said, and the two other women nodded. “Was his masquerade such a heinous one? He seems to love you –“ Stiles snorted, “or care about you at least, Stiles. Why else would he be fighting for your hand?”

“Is that all you think about, Lydia?” Malia went off a tangent. Stiles had begun to contemplate if he could make it out of the window with his all of his belongings. Erica had a firm grasp on his pillow, but he had already given that fancy up. She could have it, as she was the one who had made it. He had one foot on the floor when thunderous yelling came from below. He carefully slipped towards his boots. 

“What are you doing?”

“Escaping. Scott’ll be up here any second, either to wring my neck or Erica’s, and between the two of us I can make the jump out the window safely.”

Malia jumped to the window before Stiles could slither away. “No, His Lordship’s horse is still here.”

“Another reason for me to make this jump.”

“Stiles! Why are you behaving so rashly!” Lydia called, and when all of her siblings gave her a face, “More rashly than usual! What has he done to promote this lunacy?”

“He just – frustrates me.” Stiles wished he wasn’t as frustrated with himself as he was with his Lordship. He saw all of the signs in front of him – Theoderek running away to the army, Lady Laura dying without apologizing – all stories Stiles knew since he lived in the very town that they happened in. Stiles just had cotton for brains and well, hadn’t cottoned on! Well His Lordship had shown Stiles what an idiot he had been, and he thanked His Lordship for it. He wouldn’t trust strangers as much ever again.

“JOHN CRAIS.” Scott bellowed from below. 

“Fuck.” Stiles said and went for his rucksack. Malia stepped in front of him.

“Get on downstairs. At least have the decency to tell His Lordships that, gee, thank you for this opportunity but no thanks, goodbye.” Malia had a point, surprisingly, but Stiles still did not want to go.

“Stiles,” Erica piped in, “I think you’re making a mistake here. Don’t be so prideful that you won’t make a good life for yourself.”

“Thank you, but I have plans of my own, and I shall be happy here at the millhouse.” Well, until Scott kicked him out. He turned to his eldest sister. “Lydia, please.” He whined. He knew she was at least a little sympathetic to him, especially because Stiles had stood up for Jordan when she married him. 

“Malia, you go.” Lydia ordered. “I have more things to address with the youngest.” Malia rolled her eyes but slipped out. Stiles knew she would not mince her words. “Well, I hope you’re happy, Erica. What were you thinking, asking Stiles to do something that might get him hung for his stupidity? It isn’t cute or seemly for a man to kidnap another man, especially a nobleman. Well, Stiles didn’t mean to do that but, you know! I hope you know you’ll never lay eyes on Julia Hale again. What an idiot Scott has been, letting you run around with her. I shall tell Scott not to let her near you again.”

“I do not care.” Erica said miserably. “I never want to see her again, anyways.”

“You say that after the fact. At least Stiles kidnapped someone who didn’t attempt to seriously injure him or … other things. Do you think he’d have a lord fighting for him? No, he’d have come home with an annoying little boy to bother you or injured beyond all belief, in the worst possible scenarios. Do you ever think, Erica?”

“Let her alone, Erica. I was the one to agree to it.”

“Fine. You know it true though, Stiles.” Stiles sighed and pulled his pillow away from Erica, setting it atop his pack. All he needed was a distraction …

Another shout came from below, and both sisters turned to see if someone was coming up the stairs. Stiles checked his bootlaces, then slowly put one foot on the windowsill.

“STILES!” This time the roar had taken on a deeper tone, and Stiles knew that Bear-Theoderek-whomever he was would be upon them in a few beats. In fact, it seemed as if he was at the door. “STILES, OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I KNOCK IT DOWN.”

He felt a hand pulling at his shirt as someone opened the door. He turned to find Malia grinning at him, a firm grasp on his shirt, and Erica opening the door. 

Erica immediately cried at the sight of His Lordship. “Oh, my lord, please don’t be cross with Stiles, tis all my fault.” She began to babble, a trait Stiles didn’t know she possessed. “I made him do it, he didn’t want to, but I cried – “

“Yes, you cry quite prettily, I worry the tears aren’t even real.” Derek said dryly. “It is your fault, you’re right, you and your Jackson Whittemore –“

Erica gasped and rounded on Stles. “You told! How could you?”

“Aye, he told me.” You guessed, Stiles thought at him. You guessed, and that smug tone is unbecoming. Malia snorted. “And lucky for you he did, or you wouldn’t be receiving this right now, or my blessing.” Derek opened a hand of Erica’s and dropped a heavy purse of coins into it. Erica looked at it as if it was a baby hawk.

“That should pay for your dowry and a few other sundries. I suggested to Brother Scott that he find a place for your husband to be at the mill, since his gallivanting is hardly steady work, and to have him avoid my cousin Julia. He’ll need something more regular, with the babe on the way –“

“ERICA!” Lydia screeched from the doorway. Malia had dropped her grip on Stiles to advance on Erica. However, Derek put a hand on Erica’s shoulder and shoved her toward the door.

“I suggest you go talk to Brother Scott. He has a few words for you. Don’t worry, he won’t strike you.” Erica passed him by, white as a sheet.

This had Stiles dropping his pack and advancing on Derek. “Why did you do that?” He smacked Derek on his broad chest. “He’ll make her life a living hell.”

“Better hers than yours, Stiles.” Derek said, his hands coming to touch Stiles. Stiles dodged quickly and ran back to his window, pulling at his pack. “What are you doing?” Derek asked, a little amused.

Malia slung him to the floor on her way out. “Excuse me, Milord. I must make sure my sister doesn’t make even more of an improper fool of herself. If you want my advice,” she leaned in as Stiles dusted himself off, his shirt loose down the front, “kiss him. He’ll come around.”

Derek ducked into the room, hitting his head on a bag of dried lavender. He looked so out of place in his dark clothes. The tapestries Erica had purchased were bright reds and vibrant purples, nothing like the austere white and black Derek was dressed in. Stiles blended in his earth tones, his side of the room clearly the reason for blue and green tapestries hanging from the ceiling. Derek then dragged his eyes over Stiles, from his boots to his appropriately tight pants, to his wide open shirt, garnet in the center of his chest, where his eyes stopped. Stiles looked down and pulled his shirt back together, lacing with purpose.

As Stiles went for his bag, Derek came over and took it, throwing it across the room.

“I thought you’d seen and been around me enough for a day.”

Derek grinned, “But therein lies the rub, Stiles, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you. Which is why marriage is the best answer.”

“I don’t even know your preferred name, Your Lordship.” Stiles spat out. “Besides, I told you, I have no taste for marriage and you know better than to try and force it. You’d be kicked out of your own home.” Would be funny, though. “Did you even listen to me?”

“I prefer Derek. And yes, I listened to you, but it begs the question, why has someone so against love and sexuality been behaving so these past days?”

“I couldn’t help that.” The words tumbled out without Stiles’ consent, but they were true.

“Couldn’t help that? What, making love?”

“Aye.” Stiles looked out of the window. 

Derek tried to take Stiles’ chin, but Stiles stepped back, into the windowsill. “Would you have married Lawrence Fitzwilliam?” Stiles shrugged. “That’s no answer.”

“I have no answer for you, Your Lordship. I do not know.” Stiles turned only to glare at him. “I cannot predict what might have happened any more than I can tell you what will happen. But I can tell you that I will never set foot in the manor house again, and so a marriage between us would be impossible. If you wanted to do me a favor, you would go save Erica from marrying that idiot Jackson. She said she would bed you.” Stiles hummed at that thought. It made him angry but at the same time, would give him an out. Like the window would, if he ran.

“Stiles, the Sheriff told me what happened with you and my sister. I know it was bad – “

“No, you do not! No one knows. Did the Sheriff tell you how Laura went mad? She was apparently obsessed with my father – the Sheriff, not my actual father – and when I introduced myself again, as John, she went crazy. She would only call me John, though she had known me as Stiles. She knew me, and yet she thought I was someone else. It wasn’t even me she was in love with, but no one knew, since we held the same name. She would have me, though I wasn’t my father, and nothing I could do would stop that.”

“Stiles.” This had clearly been weighing on Stiles for some time.

“Stop. I know you don’t want to hear this next part, but I must say it. A miracle happened that night, when Laura died. No sooner had we entered Laura’s solar that she collapsed. I was so frightened, I knew her mad but never ill a day in her life. I was so frightened. I stood over her as she clutched her chest for a few moments, trying to breathe. I went out into the hall, yelling for my father, hoping he had not left. By the time he came,” tears were in Stiles’ eyes, “She was dead. Then your uncle accused me of murdering her. He wanted me hanged, Derek. So do you understand? It isn’t just you, or your house, it is your whole entire family that has cursed me with the worst days of my life.”

Derek came forward again, but Stiles put a foot in the windowsill, scrubbing at his eyes. “Stiles.” His voice was earnest, his eyes clear. “I know that my family has caused you ill, but I will change all that. I plan on kicking Peter out when I get home, I’ll board up Laura’s old room, I’ll do whatever you wish.”

“I wish for you to leave me alone.”

“I need someone I trust, Stiles. I trust you. I don’t know the Sheriff, or your brother, and I sure as hell don’t trust my uncle. Please, I may not be some silly old knight from Caterbury in name, but I am the same person. Why do you hate me so?”

“I have always hated you.” Stiles spat out, but Derek did not seem phased by that. He must’ve expected out. “And you lied to me.”

Stiles had been so distracted that he didn’t notice Derek picking him up until he had been slung onto the bed. “Listen to me.” Derek knelt in front of him. “I meant to have you in any way I possibly could when you climbed onto my back and declared me your prisoner. And I know you, you will not settle to be a third in a relationship of any kind, so marriage it must be.”

“Ha! So you don’t want to marry me.”

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t planning o marry so early. But there are some people men can’t have any other way, and so this is a sacrifice I willingly make.”

Stiles was steaming. He kicked at Derek’s nether parts, hoping it would distract him enough to let Stiles go. “Well I’ll have you know, I do not want to marry you. I’ll be a miserable husband, I don’t want to live where you live, I will get terribly jealous the second you take a mistress or make someone pregnant, I’ll leave! I’ll leave to where you can’t find me.”

“You’re crazy if you think anyone will catch my eye besides you.” Derek had leveled himself up to Stiles’ eyeline, and gave into Malia’s advice and kissed Stiles, pushing him onto his back as he had the first time he’d kissed Stiles. 

Stiles struggled, trying to prove his point. He hated being cut off in the middle of an argument. But a wide hand brushed against the shirt’s ties, pulling them away so Derek could fasten his mouth to the love mark he’d made the night before, his hand going to a nipple, and Stiles felt his resolve weaken. He could always escape after supper. A thigh separated his own and Stiles could hear noises being made. He wished he’d learned to be quiet outside of hunting. Instead, he gripped onto Derek’s head. 

After a hand went into Stiles’ breeches, he felt his reserves dampen. There was no point in fighting this. He was already under this spell. 

Derek felt Stiles give in, and dove into his surrender willingly. Perhaps it was not fair, Derek’s experience and knowledge of what would feel good, but he felt the need to prove himself to the younger. That they would be good together for more than one night. He didn’t have oil for them to go all the way, but he did have another secret weapon. 

He dropped to his knees, off the bed, chuckling to himself. It was quite dirty to be doing this in such a sacred space. This had probably been the only room Stiles had ever known. Perhaps Stiles could be persuaded to bring some tapestries to the manor house. Brighten it up a bit.

Before Stiles could ask what was going on, there were hands unlacing his smart breeches, and a hand reached inside. Stiles knew Derek was good at this, so he let his head fall onto the quilt on his bed. However, something warm and hot instead engulfed the head of his cock.

He screamed. 

Derek pulled off and gave his hips a good squeeze. “You have to be quiet, baby. Scott will kill me if he finds us like this.” And then he went back to his previous ministrations.

Release came quickly for Stiles, and Derek straddled him as Stiles regained consciousness, spilling his own seed onto Stiles’ belly. Derek then fell atop of Stiles, his head buried into Stiles’ hair. 

“Now will you marry me?” Derek murmured into the chestnut locks.

“I guess I have no other choice.”

“You don’t.” Derek said, smugly.

“I won’t give up my leathers.”

“Yes, you will. You’ll dress as your station beckons. I’ll burn them.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I would. And I want my garnet back.”

Stiles sighed. “I have no idea where it is, truly.”

Derek groaned and pulled at the lace around Stiles’ neck. “It is threatening to gut me.”

Stiles pushed at Derek’s head softly. He then listened to the dead silence of the house. “You don’t think they heard us, did you?”

“You were the one screaming. They probably think I was up here killing you.”

“Or that I was killing you.”

“You were the one begging for more.”

Stiles hit a palm to his face. “I need to learn how to be silent in real life.” Stiles then cuffed Derek across the head. “You did this apurpose!”

“Did what apurpose?” Derek said, lacing up his pants, then Stiles’.

“You know! This.” Stiles hissed.

“No I do not. Now, I suggest you start packing, since we’ll be wed tomorrow. See if Erica will let you take any of the tapestries. I like them.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Yes, tomorrow. So you don’t run away from me.” Derek even scooped up his pack. “I’ll give this to Scott so you don’t steal off in the middle of the night. Scott would flay you for insolence, no doubt. He was quite mad.”

“No one will lay hands upon me!”

“Scott won’t anymore, but it doesn’t mean I won’t put you over my knee if you disobey me.” Derek kissed him hard on the lips, then swung the pack over his shoulder, whistling.

Honestly, it didn’t sound too bad to Stiles. But still, better not to tempt Derek.

Ugh. Packing. Stiles was bringing his pillow at least.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has a bitter homecoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the hardest time writing this for some reason, sorry everyone. I hope I'll get a little bit quicker now that I'm kind of out of this rut.
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated!

It had been ten years since Derek had last seen the manor house of Stephensgate. He had hoped the ten years would create a rose colored glasses effect on his home, but instead he felt sort of disgruntled still. It looked the same – too big for a regular house, but lacking the qualities of a moat and a drawbridge that a castle would have. It was still dark stone, with a six foot walls surrounding it, and the pair of towers struck him with thoughts of Laura. She had always said that the two of them were like the towers – the two children of the manor. Derek had always been confused about this metaphor, since the towers had been in disuse since before their great grandfather’s time. Stephensgate had not seen feudal warfare in over a hundred years and no one who appreciated their skulls bothered climbing up there. The manor also held the storehouse, the bakehouse and the stable, which is where Derek led Cam. They all looked to be in good shape, a light on in the bakehouse.

As he trotted forward, he realized the contempt he had against Laura that he thought had cooled had risen up again over his trip home. He knew that he shouldn’t hold Laura’s actions that he wasn’t here for against her, but the way that everyone that was in the Crais house explained it, it was simple. Laura had lost her mind. 

Which is why Derek was so heavily into his thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the call from the top of one of the towers. The reason he stopped was, in fact, the call of the Sheriff for someone to get down from somewhere. 

He looked up to see a towheaded boy on one tower, staring down from between two merlons, and another voice called from the other side. “He said hello politely, it is rude to not respond.” Derek squinted in the dimming twilight to the other voice and only saw a pale face with mud smeared all over it. 

Derek had not felt so chastised in quite some time. “Hello then.”

“Cora, Isaac, please get down from there.” The Sheriff sounded tired. It seemed that this particular Sheriff dealt with more youngsters in his reeve then Derek knew most did. As the girl child rolled her eyes, the Sheriff dismounted and pointed at the stable. “Go get old Webster down here, Cora. We need someone to put away the horses.”

She stuck her tongue out at the Sheriff, but easily disappeared into the tower. Derek then turned his attention to the blond child, who tilted his head curiously. “Who’s that with you, Sheriff?”

The Sheriff sighed. “It’s His Lordship, Isaac.”

Derek felt as if he could hear the child’s eyes widen. “His Lordship Theoderek?”

Derek rolled his eyes as the Sheriff nodded. He hated his full name, but Lord Derek sounded a little too informal.

He was marrying a man named Stiles, though. Perhaps he could let it slide. Then he wouldn’t have to hear his full name as often as he had in the past twenty four hours. 

The boy stared at Derek for a few moments, then fled the tower. Derek turned to the Sheriff. “Who are those two?”

“Who, Isaac and Cora?” Derek nodded. “They live here.”

“Peter lets them?”

“Easier for him to have a page and houseboy that you don’t have to pay then two you do.” 

Derek sighed. This ended tonight.

“But then he also let your squire stay.” The Sheriff made a face just thinking about Peter, which is exactly how Derek felt. “He had a story about you two being ambushed by highway robbers and that they’d be a ransom for you. I, of course, heard this second hand from Isaac because when Matthew saw me, he shut up like a clam.”

“Matthew is quite peculiar, I’ll give you that.” An older man wobbled out of the stable, and Derek took a hard look at him. The past ten years had not been kind to Webster, who had always manned the Hales’ stables, but he was still upright and doing his job. He would never let his beauties – what he referred to the horses as – suffer, and Derek was sure he had suffered through many a cold night during the past year. While Peter appreciated horses, Derek doubted he paid Webster enough. Derek dismounted gracefully and stuck a hand out, grabbing the forearm in greeting. He wasn’t sure how much Webster could see. “Well met, Webster.”

“Milord Derek, glad to see you home. You never did know your strength, even as a boy.”

“Well I am back now,” Derek said, dropping them arm of his stablehand, “and back to stay.”

Webster snorted. “I’d said, it’s about time.” Webster walked over to Cam, whom he ran a hand against in deference to his breeding. “Me beauties were beginning to suffer.” With that, he took Cam’s reigns and the reigns to the Sheriff’s own horse and escorted them into the stable.

“I suppose I should be happy they kept him on. He’s been here as long as my father was alive and then myself. They could have turned him out, I suppose, seeing as he’s near blind as a bat. I bet they pay him nothing, giving it all to the boy instead.”

The Sheriff snorted. “Isaac doesn’t help Webster. Tis Cora. They don’t pay either of them, and Webster has a milkmaid’s salary, so it costs Peter nothing.”

“What does Isaac do, if not help Webster?” Derek inquired, intrigued. A girl helping in the stables and a boy doing who knows what.

“Whatever Peter and Julia need. I’ve seen him do everything from shine the floors to help Julia with her toilette. Since they don’t need to be paid, Peter feeds them and send them on their way.”

“And who exactly cooks?”

The Sheriff shot Derek a look. “Do you think Mistress Laver would leave this household? Julia would poison her own father if she attempted such, and it has been her household since she was barely ten and eight.” They had reached the doors to the manor house by this point. “Now, are we going to knock or are we going to enter?”

Derek frowned. “Sheriff, this is my house.” Derek took a deep breath. He had seen plenty of violence in his time in the Crusades, and valiantly wished that he would never have to see any again. He wanted a life of tranquility and peace. However, kicking his uncle out of his home was going to be rowdy, if not downright violent. He then pushed the doors wide open, leaving him a big berth to enter his home.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs was Isaac, wringing his hands. “Oh,” he said, bowing to Derek and then locking eyes with the Sheriff, “I didn’t know if you’d come inside or not.”

Derek chose to ignore this comment and look around the Great Hall of his home. It took up almost all of the main floor of the manor, but it had decorations from his ancestors and it was kind of nice. To see all of the things that had been left over his time gone. At the far end of the hall stood a high fireplace. A tall, high fire rose within it, and he could see two high backed chairs. One held his squire, who was leaning over his own, and one with only a hand visible that he assumed was his cousin Peter.

As Matthew heard the commotion, he removed himself from his chair and swayed towards Derek on unsteady legs. “Tis my master!” He called as he barreled to and fro down the hall. Derek rolled his eyes at this idiotic behavior, cursing whomever in this house thought it okay to give a young boy so much wine. He examined what Matthew was wearing and noticed that he had taken his chain mail off and replaced his fur collar with a golden necklace. “Look, here he is, monsieur Peter!” Matthew slurred, going to touch Derek but getting his hand pushed away by Isaac. He didn’t seem to care. “No ransom necessary, I see. I – “

Before Matthew went off an unneeded tangent, Derek stopped him. “Matthew, whose necklace is that?”

He clutched at it. “Tis mine!”

“Did your mother give it to you?”

“No, Monsieur Peter did.” 

Derek narrowed his eyes at his cousin. Already trying to buy off his own servants. “Why, how kind of him. However, due to your behavior on this trip, I do not think you need such a frivolous gift. You have not earnt it in my eyes, and, as you have said, I am your master. Please take it off and return it.” Matthew looked furious, but Derek raised an eyebrow. “Return it or it’ll be a night in the stocks, and then back to London. I will not have such a idiotic little boy as my squire.” The silent _and I doubt anyone else will take you_ hung between them. 

It didn’t need to be said.

Derek then turned his glare to his uncle, who had removed himself from his chair during this exchange. Derek held his hand out to Matthew, who deposited the necklace in Derek’s hand gloomily. He then offered it to Peter. “Uncle Peter.”

Peter looked at Derek, then at his hand. “Surely this can’t be my nephew. You were such a wiry, angry young thing when you left. Look at you now. Not even a muscle on your body left not sculpted.” Peter sounded impressed, as if he knew Derek truly could tear his head off at any moment. “Did the Sheriff catch whomever captured you?” Peter smirked.

“No need.” The Sheriff replied, looking up the stairs. “I felt it unnecessary to arrest them, seeing as they just brought him home the scenic way. Besides, if I arrested him, I’d have to arrest your daughter as well.” 

It was as if Peter knew exactly who the Sheriff was talking about when the word ‘him’ came out of his mouth. He went to open his mouth, then shut it as he looked at the Sheriff. “I’m just glad a large ransom did not have to be paid. Fortunately, we have kept the house well. You remember my daughter, Julia? She has grown into quite a young lady since you’ve seen her last. And we’ve had your father’s bedchamber made up for you.”

Derek snorted. “Were you not using it yourself, Peter?”

“What, me?” Peter said, a hand on his chest. “If I had, it is not proper for me to sleep there anymore. I took another room.” He seemed to want to play as if he was the one who had made the sacrifices over the past year of ruling over Derek’s lands. It was unacceptable.

“Quite fitting that you only care about what is proper when I am standing in front of you.” Derke heard a small fit of laughter behind him. He was glad the Sheriff found this amusing. 

Peter’s face went from calm to mildly furious. It was as if he knew what was to come. 

“The place looks just fine. I’m surprised you haven’t hired any help for poor old Webster, but John says that Cora does it just fine, though you don’t pay her.” Derek ran a hand over a table, which had a thin layer of dust.

“Things aren’t quite the way you left them, Derek. Laura most of the horses before she passed and I didn’t see the use in keeping such a large stable when it was just Webster.”

“Strange she would have done so, considering how much she loved horses. And that she was marrying. Though the man she married didn’t have a dowry, but I doubt that was it. Then they would have had children, who would have also needed horses. Though Stiles does have his own …”

“Oh, so you heard of that terrible debacle, did you? Yes, a dark day in our family’s history, Derek.” Derek did not like this level of familiarity.

“It is Your Lordship now, Peter.” Derek was not the second born of the family anymore. He wasn’t the heir apparently. He was the Earl of Stephensgate.

“Of course. Isaac, would you go and tell Mistress Laver that His Lordship,” the words came out quite harsh, “has returned and that we need a dinner fit for an earl. Tell her she has my permission to slaughter one of the suckling pigs –“

“One of the pigs!” Isaac cried, his eyes wide. But before the youngster could run off, Derek stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Peter, I feel as if that does not matter anymore. It is only my permission that matters anymore and Isaac, you do not have to do anything.” Derek turned his head. “It seems that you and Cora have been doing the job that I have my squire to do. Matthew, please go help Webster with the horses.”

Matthew laughed, as if it was beneath him. “Go help Webster! There’s only three horses in the stables!”

Derek was over this misbehavior. As quickly as someone who had beheaded as many as he had, he handed Isaac the chain and grabbed the front of Matthew’s collar. Taking it, he shoved his squire neatly into the wall and held him so he could make eye contact with Derek. “I am through with your constant disrespect, squire. Though Peter has done something kind,” though Derek saw it as a façade, “you forget that he is simply a baliff. He is not a knight and therefore knows nothing about how knights or squires behave.” His voice dipped a tad deeper. “You will listen to me, only me, or you will head back to London with your tail between your legs and I will make sure no one will hire you or take you on as their own. You should be reminded that you are not here because I like you, but because your father,” he emphasized this word, “was a fair and true knight. Something you are not shaping up to be.” Derek released his woozy squire. “Now get. And you shall be sleeping out in the stables tonight, so get comfortable.”

Matthew took off like a bat out of hell. Derek was pleased that the wine and the luxury from Peter had not put lead into his feet. He was half hoping Matthew would take him up on his offer and make him a free knight. He turned back to his uncle, the Sheriff and Isaac, who was clutching the gold necklace.

“Nephew mine, you seem … displeased. If only the sale of the horses is what is the matter, I would blame the Lady Laura. She acted like a woman possessed those last few weeks of her life.” He even bothered to look sad about it.

“Or slowly being killed by poison.” Derek threw back.

“Poison? Aye, there was talk of John Crais slipping her some poison on their wedding night.”

“Poison is a woman’s weapon though. And Stiles had nothing to do with it. In fact, someone who seemed so crazed probably was already taken with poison long before she wed Stiles. Isn’t there a lady of some … formidable mind in this house?”

“Do you know what you say, My Lord?” Peter spit out.

“Indeed I do, Uncle.” Derek held a hand out. “I do not want to hear any excuses, as you know as well as I that madness does not run in the family. Besides, if Stiles wanted Laura dead he would have taken her down. Poisoned by someone in this very house, and I doubt it was Mistress Laver either.” Derek met Peter’s eyes with little remorse.

“And what do you know of John Crais, My Lord? You seem comfortable enough with him that you use his nickname,” he looked as if he would spit on the ground, but that would insult the Sheriff as well as Derek, “so you know that he is no God-fearing Christian. With a family like that and those despicable leather trousers, he flaunts himself like a common slattern.”

Derek advanced and gripped his uncle’s shirt as he had his squire’s. “That is quite enough from you. You’ll not utter another word about him or his family. It is rich, coming from you. What you will do is produce the bills of sale from my family’s horses. Then my account books, and then after that we shall sit down and you can explain to me and the Sheriff here why the tallage of my father’s serfs has gone but by a third. You will also inform me why that this winter so many of them would have starved if not for the kindness of a free personage of this town. Someone you have better change your tune about, for they would be a better bailiff than you.” The Sheriff tugged on his own tunic, so he let go of his uncle.

Peter was clearly ready for the sort of conflict. “My lord, you’ve been listening to the village gossip. I’m surprised you of all people are willing to judge me without a fair hearing.”

“Ah, well then, let us hear your side of the tale, Monsieur Hale.” Clearly the Sheriff was as interested in these proceedings as Derek was. Though he thought it fatherly concern rather than worry over Derek and his grand fortune. “This should be amusing. Now come along, sir, what happened to those beautiful horses?”

Peter waved his hand. “I am … unsure. I think a few fell ill, and we put them down in the worry that it would spread. Then a few more, and those had to be put to sleep as well. Then we sold off a few who couldn’t bear to be without their yearlings or their friends. I was mistaken to say all of them had been sold.”

“And the taxes, Uncle?”

“The river overflowed last June, flooding nearly all of your property and destroying more than half of the crops. I had to increase them to replace the ruined crops and to keep the manor house going through the winter months.”

Derek glanced at the Sheriff, who looked thoughtful. “Aye, the river overflowed, and a few fields flooded. But nothing more than a wheat field or two, and I think one of those belonged to someone who tills these lands, not you, My Lord.”

“And so it was this reason that you demanded so much money from Matthew Fairchild for permission to marry Mavis Poole?” Derek raised an eyebrow in feigned confusion.

“I am lost as to what you are implying. I don’t remember them, nor their marriage.” Peter demurred.

“The Pooles have been tilling the same plot of years for longer than you have been alive. You were my parents’ bailiff, then my sisters and you lie to me and tell me you have no recollection of either of these people. Uncle, if you do not know who lives on these lands, then I wonder why you still have this position.”

Peter looked at Derek as if he was someone he had not met before. He started to speak some reply, but Derek advanced again. Dragging Peter against the wall as he had Matthew, he took his other hand and forced Peter to make eye contact.

“I could crush you like a twig. I could hold you against this wall and break your neck and no one would think twice of it. I am the lord of his manor and you would do best to remember that. I could justly accuse you of crimes easily proven. And though we are of blood I will happily watch you rot in prison for the rest of your days. But,” Derek cracked his neck, “I’d much prefer to run you through with my sword, and then wipe the blood from the blade upon you and your sorry carcass.”

A hand came up and pulled at the scruff of his neck. “My lord. Please do not.”

He sighed, the father figure at his back reminding him of his place. He still shook his uncle a little bit. “But instead,” he growled out, watching Peter’s eyes widen, “instead I will tell you what you have done for this estate.” Derek took a deep breath in and whispered in Peter’s ear. “Nothing.”

Dropping Peter to the ground, he pulled him along until he stood with the Sheriff on one side and Peter forming a triangle between them. “You have done nothing for this estate, nothing for my parents or my sister. You have done nothing to concern yourself with the lives that my family has sworn to protect and serve. Your only concern is lining your pockets with Hale gold, which I remind you was not even your given surname.” Until Peter came to live with them permanently, his father would always make fun of the fact that both his wife and her brother changed their names after his parents’ marriage. “In fact, nothing would surprise me more than if you had some hand in infecting my parents with the fever that killed them.”

Derek then pushed Peter towards the staircase. Derek’s hackle then rose. “I want every coin you have extorted from me and my people returned to me by December 31st. I want every scrap of paper recording every transaction over the past year in the Sheriff’s possession by dawn. If anyone tells me that they have heard of you burning such, you will be put in the stockade immediately. You will be out of my home by noon tomorrow along with your daughter. If you take anything of mine I will shoot you with an arrow myself. Am I understood?”

For a moment he saw a vitriol on Peter’s features he had only seen on soldiers who knew they were beat and were desperate to escape. He looked willing to do whatever necessary to survive. Derek understood that feeling. His eyes went flat with rage. And then, as if someone had snapped in his ear, he went back to normal.

“All of the things I’ve done in your absence, My Lord, has been in favor of the favor. People complained but they were coddled.”

“I am sick of all of this babbling. Those are my orders, Uncle, and you would do well to do what I say. Tomorrow or you’ll feel the blade of my sword upon your back.”

Before Derek could continue, a feminine voice called, “Father?”

Derek grabbed onto Peter and motioned for the Sheriff to do the same, then turned. 

Julia Hale had grown up well. It had been ten years past that he had seen her chasing pigs around the yard and forcing other children to eat mud. She had grown out of her mud splattered ways, instead into a musical voice and porcelain skin. She was a vision in purple, with her long black hair falling in perfect curls around her face. She had grown into a woman.

“Father, is something the matter?” She then turned her eyes to Derek and clutched a hand to her bosom. “Oh, Lord Theoderek!” She said, descending the stairs in a rush and curtsying in front of him, showing off her cleavage. “Tis a dream to see you so well. Isaac said that he had seen you out front, but I had to see it with my own eyes.” She stood and gave him eyes that, if he had not found and lost his heart, would have set an interest inside of him. “How well you look. Doesn’t he look well, father?” She gave him a sly grin that meant he could find warmth in her chambers. 

However, he had seen what the marriage of first cousins could give you. Matthew was such a product.

“Julia,” Peter grit out, “could you please go see how Mistress Laver fares with supper.”

“Father, you can’t be serious. I haven’t seen my dear cousin in ten years.” She started to droll on and Derek started to agree with Stiles upon the virtues (or lack of) of his cousin. Beautiful and sly, she had grown smart about her looks. She seemed to have done a number tonight. He doubted that she was pure or as innocent as she wanted to appear. “I can see no one has been kind enough to pour you a chalice of wine.”

This caused the Sheriff to begin laughing. 

“What are you laughing at?” There was the Peter inside of her.

“Julia, please leave us be.”

“Why, Father? You are the one being quite rude to our guest.”

“Julia,” Derek sighed, “I am not the guest in this house. You and your father are. And if you are headed towards the kitchens, please tell Mistress Laver to just fix dinner for you, your father and the Sheriff, as he will be staying. I will be dining at the millhouse.”

Julia laughed, an ugly snort coming from her nose. “Why would you do that?”

‘You’ll find out sooner or later. For now, I am off. Sheriff.”

The Sheriff laughed, tipped his hat and turned to Peter, gripping his arm. “To your account books. And perhaps we can uncork a wineskin or two.”

“My Lord…” Julia called, but Derek ignored her.

Derek opened the door and found a tall, dark man standing at the door. “Deputy Boyd.”

Derek sighed. More people in his home. “Please.”

As they brushed shoulders, Derek sighed. At least it had become a clear and mild night, and when Derek got to his horse, he found the girl brushing his horse. 

“You leavin then?”

“Only for a few hours. I’ll be back before your bedtime.”

She rolled her eyes. “Despite what Isaac wants, I make my own rules.”

Derek snorted. “As you were.” Derek pulled Cam out and went for the saddle. Before he mounted, he turned back to her. “Who do the two of you belong to?”

“Me ‘n Isaac belong to you.”

Derek nodded. Some scullery maid had gotten pregnant and dumped her pups on the manor house. He’d pay with them until the day he died. “Right then. Can you go help the Sheriff and make sure nothing happens to him and Boyd?”

“You’ve got my word, sir. Him and Boyd are the closest thing we got to family. Boyd takes me fishing.” With that she turned on her heel and Derek mounted his horse.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at updating, I know!! Having a grownup job and life responsibilities is hard. 
> 
> Also I know this chapter is short af and had mostly fluff, but I'm trying to get into the swing of things.
> 
> Leave me a comment if you're still reading! Love and light.

Dinner at the millhouse was a draining affair. Derek knew that Stiles had an overlarge family and that there were many in laws of sorts, but he hadn’t expected the scope to be so large. If there wasn’t an investigation going on, Derek thought that Boyd and the Sheriff would have been here as well. 

Tradition dictated that Stiles and Derek sit at opposite ends of the table and that they were not allowed to acknowledge the other. Since Derek knew only the names of the people in the room, it made him plenty uncomfortable to sit near sister Lydia and her husband Jordan and listen to them bicker about what name Erica would choose for her child. It was an interesting debate, seeing as Lydia did not care, because she ‘was not having a child, Jordan’, and Jordan cared overmuch.

As the meal wound down, however, Derek started to miss Lydia and Jordan’s incessant arguing. The tradition of teasing the newest in-law had not gone out of style since he left Shropshire, and he was treated to unending teasing and torturing by all of Stiles’ sisters. Even Erica joined in during a bawdy tune about what men were good for. Stiles, however, met his eyes with mirth and went back to arguing with Malia’s husband about something or other. By the time the meal was over, table cleared and only tankards of ale left on the table, Derek felt his face rest in its normal frown. 

It was then that he was directly addressed by Lydia. “You are looking morose for someone who is to be married tomorrow, Milord.”

Derek sighed. “When he is mine, I will rejoice. Until then …” Derek shrugged.

This caused Lydia to give a little cackle. “It seems you do know him well. Worry not, though. Scott intends to sleep downstairs tonight and I already barricaded the upstairs window so he cannot escape.”

“And I moved his emergency hay bale.” Jordan added proudly, leaning back in his chair.

Perhaps being in this family would not be so bad at all.

\--  
It was not until after midnight that the party broke up. Derek had tried several times to get closer to Stiles, and the one chance he got to hold him was thwarted by Scott, who picked Derek up and moved him. For someone with such a compact body, Scott could throw around weights like children picking up dolls. 

Derek had saddled Cam up and was leaving the mill house when he saw a flash of something out in the darkness. “Hello?” He called, not wanting to be caught off guard in his mildly intoxicated state. 

The figure slipped up to him and it was Stiles, the garnet gleaming from his neck. Derek halted Cam and Stiles slid up to the saddle with no effort at all. It was the first time all night Derek felt a real grin split his face.

“Good evening.” Derek said, caressing Stiles’ cheek.

“Good morning, you mean.” Stiles drawled and Derek chuckled. 

“Aren’t you risking the wrath of your sisters, being out here like this?” Derek mumbled softly as he pulled Stiles closer to his body.

Stiles merely slapped his thigh. “Don’t be dense, asshole.” He then sighed.

“What is wrong?” Derek asked from his leaning spot on Stiles’ shoulder.

“I – I just wanted to check and see –“

“Check and see that I haven’t changed my mind and now don’t want to marry you after being subjected to your crazy family?”

Stiles snorted. “That’s more than you said all night to anyone in that room.”

“Will being wedding to me be such a hardship?” Derek inquired. Stiles already performed so many necessary duties that it would have been common sense to ask him for his hand, even if he was as ugly as a stick. 

“I hate being tied down.” Stiles answered, glancing back at the millhouse.

“Well, a wanton lad such as yourself should be tied down to someone solid.”

“As if you yourself have not admitted to being as wanton as I am!” Stiles sputtered, his face blushing a rose pink.

“I never disagreed. But no one besides me has caught on, and even though you are a man and my equal, I am a chivalrous sort and so I intend to make honest men out of the both of us. So, count your blessings that I am not someone as loathsome as my uncle,” Derek kissed Stiles, merely to get jokingly rebuffed as Stiles slid out of the saddle, “And don’t get into too much trouble between now and tomorrow.”

Stiles made a lewd gesture and Derek laughed. “You promised, Stiles.”

The younger sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” He lazily saluted Derek as he walked backwards toward the millhouse for his last night there. Derek pointed Cam towards home.

\--

Derek was still in a pleasantly good mood when he got back to the manor house, and when he went to picket his horse he found many in the stables that weren’t in there before. 

He found a similar amount of men in his great hall. The Sheriff introduced them all, one by one, to Derek as Derek shook their hand with his right and sipped a fresh tankard with his left. Then they buckled down and discussed business. 

Stiles had been right about Peter, not that Derek was surprised. Derek dismissed Peter from his party with a wave of a hand, and did not mind much when he saw a nasty look on Peter’s face.

He then got drunk beyond his wildest dreams. 

By the time he got upstairs, the fog the drink had given his head was starting to clear up, but he had to watch carefully where he was going. The torch he was carrying was still bright and he did not wish to end up burnt on his own wedding day. The long halls were almost haunting him as he headed down to his own solar. They spoke of Mother and Father and Laura. Of spending one evening dropping bits of eggshell into Peter’s hair when he was eleven and Laura thirteen. 

He found the memories bittersweet, and he hoped that one day they would run clean and pure again.

He found his room unchanged. Blue velvet curtains hung from the window, put were pulled back to he could see out into the yard. He had a feeling Mistress Laver had been up here after dinner, because there were a few fresh candles left out and his fireplace clean. His wolf pelt bedspread was laid neatly on top of his bed, and his pillows looked freshly plumped. It was if he had never left, and it caused a gnawing feeling in his stomach.

Once he got himself together, he entered his room and stripped down to his altogether, blowing out the torch. He then slid under the blankets and took a deep breath, burrowing into the sheets. He was not ashamed to admit he missed Stiles’ body next to his, though they had only spent two nights together. He missed his smell, his sighs in his sleep, his soft skin. It was almost too much, being alone.

As if someone had heard his thoughts, a knock came at the door. “Who is it?” He bellowed, knowing a few of the deputies were sleeping here and might be looking for an available bed. 

A slim hand with a candle proceeded the person entering his room, and he knew immediately who it was. Julia Hale’s reputation hadn’t been forgotten in his nightly party. In fact, many of the men were worried that it would be her and her only that would soften Derek into letting Peter stay. If Derek did not have Stiles, he might have agreed. 

But he did, and that matter what closed.

“Cousin?” She said meekly, and then he could see the rest of her. 

She had clearly taken her time in doing herself up before coming to see him. Her hair was soft and parted down the middle, framing her face. Her nightclothes were frothy and lacy, something he had only seen on women of high breeding or a mistress. He remembered her from when she was just a young child, her tomboy habits of not washing her hair too often and her thumb sucking in the forefront of his mind.

“Yes?” He answered wearily.

“I must speak with you!” She cried, and she flew to his bedside within moments. Up close, she looked like a doll. “Father said – Father said – well there must be some misunderstanding!”

“Yes, you seem to have lost your way back from the kitchens for a midnight snack and stumbled into my solar. I know it is not yours because …. Well, because it is a little too masculine for who you have become. You had better hurry back to your own bed, cousin, before you catch a cold. You are dressed for a dip in a lake, not a cold night.”

“Father says you have commanded us to leave by noon tomorrow!” She cried louder, and Derek sighed. 

“Today, actually.”

“Sir, tell me this isn’t true. This has been my home for half of my life! Surely there is something I could do to persuade you?” With this, she raised her eyebrow and her empty hand started to creep forward.

“Nay, nothing to do, fair cousin, except let me rest. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“I might be able to make your night’s rest very well indeed, cousin…” She blinked coquettishly, and it made Derek laugh. 

“And how would you do that?”

She thought she had him. “I think we both know how.” Her hand had made it to the mountain of his knee. “I have been the chatelaine of this manor for over a year, and I know how it works. I could be very invaluable, cousin dear.”

He gently removed her hand. “The only value you care for, cousin, is money, and wanting to spend mine. “Mademoiselle Hale, do you have any idea why I am in need of a good night’s sleep?” She shook her head. “Tomorrow I am to be wed.”

“Wed!” She shrieked, and there was the Julia he had watched grow up. “You only just returned here. Who could you know that you would marry?”

“John Crais.”

“John … Crais … John Crais!” Her shriek pierced his eardrums like a drum. “Are you mad! Marry Stiles,” she spat that name out like it was a piece of glass, “Have you taken leave of your senses! He was married to your sister!”

“I know.” Derek calmly responded. “Good night, cousin mine. Sleep well, you have a long journey.”

“But he is a man! You’ll have no heirs!”

“That shouldn’t matter now, should it? Goodnight, cousin.” He repeated.

She turned and stomped out the door, muttering about witchcraft. 

He said a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for bringing him Stiles. Otherwise, he would have had to deal with Julia and her wild ways for way longer than a mere twelve hours. He was also glad Stiles didn’t wear skirts and had sisters, because he was sure that any fire that Julia send his way would be easily caught and drowned. 

Derek fell asleep with a smile upon his face, thinking of his betrothed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles get married, and surprisingly nothing goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me!
> 
> Really trying my best to get back in the saddle! I got out of work early today so that probably helped.
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter! Always grateful for feedback. Love and light!

Dawn had just broken as Stiles slowly crept down the stairs. He hoped the birdsong that had begun outside would hide any small creaks that would come around, and as he hopped over the last step, he took a sigh of relief. His hunting boots were at the door, and Stiles slid into them quickly and turned towards the kitchen for some bread and maybe a sip or two of ale.

Instead, he found Scott sitting in a chair in the kitchen, nursing his own cup of ale. “Headed out on hunt this morning, Stiles?”

Although Scott and Stiles had their differences, they were still close. Being the only male siblings, they had to be. And Scott knew Stiles’ mind as well as Stiles did.

“After all of the drinking you did last night, shouldn’t you be abed?” He had truly hoped that he wouldn’t run into anyone. Scott had drunk enough ale the whole day before to fell a man Ennis’ size, and yet he was upright and for all intents and purposes alert. He could probably catch Stiles if he took off running now.

“Not when I know you’re thinking of running away.”

Stiles snorted. “And you are going to try to stop me? I know you aren’t very happy about this arrangement.”

“I’ll most certainly try. Stiles, he likes you, maybe loves you. I understand that it … difficult because he is Lady Laura’s brother, but he is a good man. A strong man, a noble man who sat through every single bit of teasing last night with no attempts of murder. Plus, you look at him like he has told you a wonderful joke and you remember it every time he breathes. Do you dislike him?”

Stiles kicked at the floor. “No, I like him.”

“Then why are you running away? Has he hurt you in some way?”

Stiles sighed and shook his head.

“Cheated you? Robbed you?” Stiles shook his head again. Stiles had been robbed of his virginity by Derek, but he was no maiden by any standards. Even though it was as if he was a delicate flower, men had sexual intercourse more oft than women did before marriage. It was easy. “Then why are you running?”

“I just – why me, Scott? Why did he pick me, of all people?” Stiles regretted the words falling from his lips after he said them.”

“What do you mean, why you?”

“I can’t give him children, I’m an awful cook, I only like cleaning kills and I wear tight leather pants every chance I get. I’m not going to be a great husband. I’m not even that handsome.”

“Obviously you’ve got something he wants, otherwise he wouldn’t be marrying you.”

Stiles snorted. “I wish he wouldn’t. I truly don’t know why he is marrying me. He just – wants to be around me. It’s strange.”

“Ah, so he is in love with you.” Stiles shook his head, looking out at the door. “Stiles, why else would he let you truss him like a pig and take you all the way home?”

“He’s never said such a thing, and if he did I doubt I’d believe him. It’s not been a week of knowing me and he loves me. That is a fairy tale.”

“Well if you think he wants a fairy tale, we’ll give him one today.”

“Scott, brother mine, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“No.” Scott said, standing to his full height. “You said he sees this as a fairy tale, that he wants you to be someone you aren’t. Then we’ll at least dress you for the part today, so he can have that little piece. And maybe he’ll tell you he loves you so then you’ll really get the message through your thick skull. I wouldn’t’ve let him come back for dinner last night if I didn’t think he wasn’t ass over heels for you. Now, let’s strike us a bargain. Go and lay out the fancy wedding clothes I know you have. We both go get a few more hours of sleep and then we can fancy you up for this fairy tale wedding and that will be the end of it. No more running off, you’ll get married and then you can go and torture him for the rest of both of your natural born lives.”

Stiles sighed. “Fine. I am still mighty tired.” He turned back towards the stairwell.

“Before you go, Stiles, give me your boots.” Stiles gave him a nasty look. “Yes, I want to make sure you don’t go anywhere, but they also need to be cleaned and you don’t have the patience.”

Stiles did as his brother asked.

\--

The few hours of sleep did both men a service, as did their sisters invading the property. Stiles had a shave and a haircut, his clothes smoothed out and his boots polished before he was even able to eat his breakfast. He kept a hearty appetite – it was a way of distracting himself from thinking about the wedding. 

His wedding clothes were not new, but they were as beautiful as when he’d worn them the last time. Laura had purchased his clothes and he had a heavily brocaded silk tunic with fine lacing, a pair of deep grey velvet breeches and a matching jacket. His boots had been deepened to their original color with spit and bootblack and he didn’t even want to glance in the reflection of the water out for cooking as he strode into the foyer.

His brother clapped him on the back. “Looking good, brother. Now it is time to go. Don’t try to run in those boots after we’ve just had them cleaned.”

Stiles made a rude gesture and went out into the yard. Some of the children in the village had made him a dogcart covered in flowers and ribbons. They had the purest of white donkeys attached to it, and Ennis picked him up and threw him in the dogcart before he could protest. All of the children screamed in delight as Stiles sighed and began to wave at them as the donkey pulled him towards the church.

\--

The banging sound that woke Derek the next morning was not, as he had expected, a pounding that came from inside your head when you’d had too much to drink. Instead, it was the sound of someone yanking at the door. 

“Come in!” He bellowed as he stuck a pillow over his head. He swore he knew his limits with alcohol, but last night proved to him again that he was growing too old for wild parties like he had with the deputies the night before. A good thing he was getting married then, he mused.

“Hello!” A chipper young voice said, and Derek peeked over the top of the pillow to see a young girl standing there. “The Sheriff sent me to wake you. Said you’d not throw something as big at a wee lass like myself.”

Derek groaned and rolled his eyes. “And exactly what does he want me for?”

He realized it was the two children he’d met the day before when the boy stuck his head in after her. “The balliff and Mademoiselle Julia are leaving. He thought you’d might like to bid them farewell.”

Derek did not want to bid them farewell, but he knew to keep up appearances he must. He took a deep breath and threw the wolf skin and the pillow off and stood up in his altogether. Neither the boy nor the girl seemed to care as he paraded around, looking and finding a new set of clothes for the day. He threw each child a gold coin before shoving his coin purse into his pocket.

He turned back to the children and observed them. The girl looked more familiar than he’d care to think about, and the boy just seemed antsy. He was mildly cleaner than her, but not even enough to really care. They both had hay everywhere and the girl was shoeless. “Who do you two even belong to?” 

The girl rolled her eyes. “You, Milord.”

The boy whispered to his sister, “I thought you told him that yesterday.” He received an elbow in the stomach for his comments. It was, in a way, like watching Derek and Laura when they’d been young.

Derek ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’d guess we better go and see them off.” The children peeled down the stairs as Derek fastened his sword to his belt and followed after.

Peter and Julia were in already in their ramshackle wagon as Derek entered the stable yard. Julia looked more like her younger self than ever. Her dress was plain, her hair thrust back into a braid, and her face clear of all paints. There seemed to be a lot of stuff in their wagon, some Derek was sure belonged to him, but to have Peter gone meant he could deal with the loss of a few curtains or whatever else. 

“I hope you know where you’re going, uncle mine. Don’t forget about your payments.”

Peter sneered. “I told the Sheriff where I’d be. And even if I’m not there, I’ll be at court. I’ve already written to have an audience with the king.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it, Peter. Hope you two have a safe journey.”

“You’ll be hearing from me, Derek. I guarantee it.”

This was when Julia chose to break her silence. “You will, you horrible, vile man.” Her face contorted to look as nasty as the words she said.

Derek strode up to the carriage, surprising father, daughter, and even himself. “Cousin, if I could offer you one tiny piece of advice – “

“Over my dead, decayed body!” She responded. 

“Run as far away from your father as you can when you get the chance. Marry an honest man, a good one, if he’ll have you, and pretend your father does not exist. Much like your mother does.” That was more a jab at Peter than Julia, but she still looked enraged. 

So enraged, she spat at him. 

Derek tilted his invisible hat and stepped back from the carriage. As soon as he was clear of the wheels, Peter set the wagon into motion and away they went. 

“Good riddance!” Called old Webster from his place at the barn door.

“Here here.” Came a softer call from Mistress Laver, who greeted him with a kind smile. She stepped forward and rubbed his cheek. “Good to have you home, Derek. I knew the minute you dismounted your horse that things would change here. Bless you for making me right!”

“I’ll need your blessings once more. I’ll be bringing my husband home tonight, and I’d like him to feel at home.”

“Your husband!” Mistress Laver’s eyes widened. Derek had never really shown a preference for men when he’d lived at home, but she took it in stride as she glanced at Isaac and Cora. “What a happy day for us all!” 

Derek opened up his coin purse and took out a large lump of gold. “Take all of this and do as you wish. Any of the rest is yours, along with some back pay. I know Peter did you and Webster wrong and I intend to pay back the debt you have given me and my family by staying on.” They were all he had left of his parents and his sister. They had stayed with the house through thick and thin and Derek was so terribly grateful to them for it. 

Her eyes watered. “Thank you, Milord Derek. Can I ask my nieces to help me, if it is a wedding feast we’ll be needing?”

“Ask whomever you like to help you. We not only need a feast, but the house aired out, the dust, the cobwebs, the mice. Whomever you can get to clean up by midafternoon will be in my everlasting debt. Also, if you could get those two a bath before the wedding,” he gestured behind him to Cora and Isaac, “it would be a great service to me. I need my household looking presentable.” He turned back to the children and met their eyes. “You understand me?”

They both looked overwhelmed at the idea of it. “Yes sir.” They said identically.

The Sheriff came over and grabbed his arm. “Now that this has all been said and done, let’s get you changed, son. You are not getting married in that getup.”

Derek looked down to see himself wearing two mismatching shades of brown. 

“I suppose it would be best. Does anyone know where Matthew is?” He was hoping he could have Matthew saddle up the horses, but it was just a thought. 

“Asleep on the kitchen floor, that nasty little thing.” Mistress Laver tutted as she pulled Isaac and Cora towards the kitchens.

“Throw some water on him and tell him to change.”

\--

It was after a shave and a sorting through all of his clothes that Derek looked mildly presentable. His tunic was silk, plain white, his breeches the softest black satin with a matching jacket. The Sheriff had managed to get his hair to one side before picking out his finest pair of boots and slapping Derek on the back. “Looking well, Milord.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

The Sheriff flicked his hand around his head. “Call me John, Milord.”

“Thank you, then, John.” Derek pulled at his collar a few times. “I guess it’s time to go.”

And so Derek headed towards the church, the Sheriff at his left and Matthew at his right. Matthew was a sight to behold, his hair matted to one side and his tunic an old one with a stain on the left cuff. Matthew had asked Derek kindly if he could stay in the back and Derek had agreed gladly. The Sheriff would stand up for him, and Matthew was not aiding him in the hopes of finding a relief for his hangover.

Derek almost wanted to ask the village to leave when he got to the church. Their rambunctiousness was making the back of his left eye throb and he could hear screaming babies over the shouts of already drunk men. 

But then he saw Stiles at the altar, talking to his brother in soft tones. Stiles looked every bit the husband of an Earl. His tunic was pristine and it was brocaded, to highlight the fact that he was a work of art. His pants were not too tight, but instead were cut well and allowed his figure to be shown but not overexposed. His jacket was tied well, and his hair was swept back from his forehead. All in all, he looked perfect. If it wasn’t for the hushing of the crowds and the stink eye Stiles gave him when their glances met, Derek would have thought him a different man.

But he wasn’t. The wedding itself was quick and painless, and by the time Deaton pronounced them married, the church was packed to the brim. Derek didn’t even care though. The loud noises, the grumpy calls of the men and animals inside and out the church, it was all soothed over by Stiles agreeing to love and cherish him. Derek kissed him and then handed Deaton enough money to build a whole new church. It was Derek’s land, and Derek wanted everyone to love their home as much as he loved Stiles. 

As they proceeded down the aisle, absolutely everyone stopped and greeted Stiles. Derek was even more impressed with his choice when Stiles greeted everyone back, using names and things that applied to each and every person. 

It wasn’t until they had exited the church that Derek noticed an ugly light brown donkey wandering loose in the churchyard. Stiles clenched when he saw that donkey. “Kate. That means Jackson is here.”

As soon as Stiles said that, there was a commotion and they both turned to find Jackson in the mud with Scott atop him, beating his face into pieces. Stiles even tried to shed his jacket to assist his older brother, but Derek grabbed him by the waist and kept him at his side. 

The Sheriff broke up the fight easily, and Derek cackled when he saw Erica leaning over Jackson, crying loudly about how Scott had ruined Jackson’s beautiful face. Scott made several death threats and it was all quite humorous. 

Deaton joined them, and Derek pulled a few coins out. “If you’ll go marry that young man and young lady over there, I would be grateful.”

Deaton sighed and made the sign of the cross as he headed over. 

All in all, not a bad wedding.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding party commences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> I was told by a reader that this story was a little more dub-con than I had thought. It made me really reevaluate what I was writing. I'm going to add the dub con tag because it is. This is based on a book and I always knew that it was. I also tried to clarify things in this chapter. I'm also breaking away from the book a little more.
> 
> Let me know if you like it! I'm still kind of rusty.

As they were driven towards the manor house, Stiles turned to Derek sweetly. If Derek hadn’t noticed the quick glance of determination in Stiles’ eye, he would have thought nothing of it.

“So, we are married.” Stiles stated simply.

“That we are. Not going to run away on me now, are you?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “No. I realized something during the ceremony though. I realized that being married to you means we are equals. You can’t demand that I do anything for you because I am an Earl as well.”

“You’re a count,” Derek started as Stiles’ soft look turned into a glare, “but yes, we are equals.”

“So, I have a few things I want from this marriage. Firstly, you will not get rid of my leather braies.” Derek opened his mouth but Stiles slung his hand over it. “I am my own man, Derek. People will think I’ve been tamed by you but I haven’t. Do you understand that?” Derek nodded and Stiles removed his hand. “Secondly, no more of this tricking me into bed thing. I’ll admit I do enjoy making love with you, but I am no prize to be won.”

“Will you put up a fight if I ask though?” Derek had to know.

Stiles raised his face towards the sun, making his nose stick high in the air. He looked more regal then Derek felt he ever had. “It depends on my mood. I will try to ask, though. ” Derek snorted and Stiles elbowed him. “I made it almost two decades without you, don’t think I won’t take a room of my own. I know how to take care of myself.” The way he said it, it wasn’t a threat but a promise, and Derek nodded.

“Finally, you will legitimize Cora and Isaac.”

That made Derek laugh outright. “Legitimize them? They aren’t even – “

“You are so lucky to have your looks and a way with a sword.” They were quickly approaching Stephensgate Manor, and Stiles pointed at Cora first, who merely nodded at him. “Look at that girl and tell me she is not a mirror of you.” Derek tilted his head and he could see a heavy resemblance. 

“But Isaac?”

“They are twins, you numbskull. Plus, he looks like your father. In case you forgot, all of the Hales were towheaded until your mother married into the family. Even I know that and I’m not – “ Stiles paused, realizing that it wasn’t true, “I wasn’t raised a Hale.” 

Derek nodded at Isaac and he waved enthusiastically. “I suppose you are right.”

“Husband mine, you’ll oft learn I always am.”

Derek had a few more questions, but the cart came to a stop, as did all of the villagers following them. Derek got out of the cart first, but as he turned around, he caught an armful of Stiles. “Carry me, husband mine. I’m feeling faint.” Stiles wiggled his lashes and Derek groaned playfully but carried him over the threshold. Derek supposed Stiles had had to carry Laura over this same threshold, and it would be a new memory for Derek to carry him. 

Though Derek wouldn’t put it past Stiles to try and carry Derek at one point or another.

Stiles dug the heels of his boots into Derek’s back. “Mush, I do not want to walk all the way to the dining hall.”

Derek preferred Stiles playful and happy over scheming and mad, so he did as he was told. It was nice to hold Stiles, especially after feeling as if he had been scolded by a teacher. But Stiles had keener eyes than he did, so perhaps Derek should learn as much as he could from his new husband.

\--

Mistress Laver and her nieces had outdone themselves. By the time Derek had deposited Stiles in his chair on their dais, he had seen enough food to rival the King’s court. Barrels of ale and fresh wineskins were ready for the drinking, a roasted pig was ready to cut open, and there was a cake the size of a small child on a table. People were streaming through the Great Hall, and Derek saw the Sheriff talking to two men, one large and deep skinned, the other his new brother in law Jordan. Stiles’ sisters were all gossiping with a girl their age with perfect brown ringlets, and he even saw Deaton staking out a place at the table for himself.

It was Matthew Fairchild himself who thrust a cup of ale into his hand and led him back to Stiles, who was fixing Cora’s hair. Isaac was chatting amiably into Stiles ear, and he got a clear look at them. They had both had baths, and fancy clothes had been put on. Cora’s dress was simple and a little big, but she was kicking her shoes together as she listened to her brother. She glanced up at Derek and it was clear she was his child. Isaac looked like a little noble with his hair combed and a beautiful tunic and clean breeches and boots. 

In that moment, Derek realized this was his family now. His husband, his children. He didn’t have to worry about finding a way to have heirs and not incur the wrath of Stiles because it was already so. He would live in the present. 

“Cora, Isaac, sit down at the chairs below us when Stiles is done.” Isaac tilted his head. “If you are both to be my heirs, no eating in the stables or out with the pigs again.” Isaac’s eyes widened, but as soon as Stiles let Cora’s hair go, she offered Derek a hand.

“Father.”

“Cora.” He greeted as he shook it. She nodded and pulled at Isaac, who followed her and as they ran into the Sheriff, relayed what had happened. 

Derek snatched a cup of ale from a passing servant and gave it to Stiles. “Is that to your liking, husband mine?”

He expected some banter, some snark from his wedded, but instead he got a kiss on the lips. A quick one, for many of the celebrants began to whistle, but a true one. 

Derek reclined. Listening to Stiles already had its perks.

\--

As the part went on, Derek and Stiles dealt with the jokes that always came to a newly wedded couple. About how the first time was the worst (which was decidedly untrue), about Derek’s performance not being up to snuff, and even a few braver souls jabbed at Stiles being on the same platform he’d married Laura on a year ago.

Stiles met their jeers with laughter and good grace. He whispered to Derek that he had made similar jokes at many of the jesters’ own weddings, so it was penance abound. He also mentioned that at least they thought nothing untoward had occurred, as Scott was laughing with the rest of them. Scott was a little bit more compact than Derek, but Derek was still a little worried about the miller. If something happened to Stiles, Derek knew it would be his own head on the pyre courtesy of Scott and his mayor father-in-law to be.

After nightfall, the dancing began. Both Stiles and Derek were content to pick at their cake slices and laugh at the drunken couples that would tumble over the other and then squabble as toes were squished. There was, however, a call to arms, and Derek and Stiles did a small reel as was custom for the newly wedded couple.

It was directly after that that Stiles was torn away by his sisters to Derek’s solar to ‘get him ready’. Derek was picked up by Ennis and Scott and was escorted to the woods. It was tradition to dump the groom in the middle of the wood and have him make his way back. Normally it took at least an hour one way, but the drinking the night before and currently had prevented the men carrying Derek from making good judgment, and so they dumped him fifteen minutes from his own home. Derek laughed as Scott smacked a friend on the rear and took off towards his own home, the friend running after him.

\--

Derek managed the quick jog back to the house in no time, and he went up the stairs at an excited pace. When he opened his door, it was to find his own room empty. Even the wolf skin and his old clothes had been removed, leaving the room stark and boring. He groaned and turned towards his father’s old solar, passing by Laura’s. He could hear snoring from inside, so he knew the whereabouts of Matthew. He was glad someone was making use of that room, as he was sure Stiles would never want to reenter that chamber again.

He opened the door to find a strange scene. Stiles was dressed, but just barely, and his hair had been mussed to look as if he had bed head. Derek assumed his sisters had been here before him, but they were all gone now. Instead, Stiles was undoing the mess that was Cora’s hair. She had clearly tried to get the braid loose and then had been distracted by some other endeavor, so it looked wild. Stiles, using only his hands, was smoothing it down though, while talking softly to her. Cora leaned against one knee, and was wearing Stiles’ wedding tunic instead of her own dress. In her lap was Isaac’s head, as he softly snored. He was wearing Derek’s tunic from the day before.

Derek supposed that they had borrowed the fancy clothes for the wedding, which is where they were now. Instead they looked like regular children, pretending to be their parents.

Stiles and Cora looked up at Derek, but Isaac stayed soundly asleep. It was tender, and it was not what he was expecting from his wedding night. The beating of his heart, which had accelerated from the run through the woods and then up the stairs, slowed somewhat.

However, this gave Cora time to shove Isaac off of her, steal a blanket from the floor and pull her brother out the door behind them, a “Goodnight” thrown out behind her.

Stiles opened his arms to Derek, a smile on his face. “Good evening, husband. It seems like you weren’t gone very long.”

Derek shrugged. “They were drunk and it wasn’t that far.”

“It took me an hour, last time.” Stiles laughed, half hollow, half amused. “Anyway, come here.”

“Are you drunk, husband mine?” Derek teased, but leaned into Stiles. 

“Not as much as you were last night.” Stiles teased back. “But, my sisters told me something that I want to test out.”

“Oh?” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Lay down.” Stiles said, and punctuated it with flipping Derek over and onto the bed, then laying atop him. Stiles then skimmed his shirt off, only allowing Derek to lift his arms to pull it all the way off. Stiles left the tunic around Derek’s head for a moment or two, then swatted his hands away when he tried to remove it from his own head. “Let me do it, Derek.”

Derek grumbled but laid back. He had promised Stiles that he would let him ask for it, and so he put his hands behind his head. Stiles smirked and took one delicate hand and wiggled it, then stroked a nipple. 

Derek’s body lit up like a livewire. He had many lovers but he was always in charge, the one leading his partners around. 

Stiles put a mouth to his nipple and Derek’s brain short circuited. He let out a loud and ungodly noise, one he would swear he had never made in his life. Stiles took that as encouragement, and tweaked one as he nursed at the other, then traded. Derek groaned out his pleasure, and then, when Stiles snuck a hand in his pants, Derek flipped him over. Stiles laughed.

“You’re enjoying this, then?”

Derek groaned his pleasure. “If I may …”

Stiles laughed. “Go for it.”

Derek took this as a way to make a mess of Stiles’ neck. Stiles’ moans matched Derek’s own, and they rocked together into completion. 

A cheer went up from out of the window and Derek sighed into Stiles’ neck. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t an earl.”

“Me too.” Stiles replied frankly. Derek nipped at his neck and Stiles smacked him. “Get rid of them.”

Derek nodded, and stripped down to his altogether before going and showering the crowd with coins and a good look at his package. “Get gone!” He bellowed, shutting the shutters and flopping down next to Stiles, who had kicked off his clothes as well. “Was this to your liking?”

“Well it was better than last time.” Stiles joked, and Derek groaned. “Hey, it was you who wanted to marry me.”

“I know that.” Derek raised an arm and Stiles sighed and snuggled up to him. “Good night, Stiles.”

“Good night, Derek.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something foul is afoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very tedious and I consolidated a lot of it, but I hope y'all like it. Sorry it took me forever to put this up, I just got really busy.
> 
> Love and light!
> 
> Feedback is always welcome.

Derek was roused the next morning by someone moving away from him. He went to cling to Stiles but was met with a brash slapping of his forearms. It had more fury than pain, but it was almost a burning sensation so Derek let go.

“Where in the devil are you going?” Derek mumbled, too lazy to open his eyes. The hangover he’d incurred with the Sheriff two nights previous was back with a vengeance. “Come back to bed.”

“Sorry, Milord,” Stiles said cheekily, “not all of us can afford to be abed all day. Though you do look unwell.” Derek felt a hand run over his head and he leaned into it. “Be up in time for lunch at least.”

Derek swatted blindly at Stiles. “But what are you going to do?”

“Some changes need to be made and you certainly have no idea what they are. There is going to be a community bonfire tonight.”

“A bonfire?” Derek yawned into his pillow. “Sounds nice.”

Stiles snorted. “It shall be. I’ll send Isaac to wake you when it is lunch time.”

“Tell him to be aware I’ll be naked again.” He heard Stiles begin to put on his own clothes. “And tell him to wake Matthew and have him groom our horses! He needs to be doing it, not Webster.”

“Alright then. Go to sleep.” Stiles had hopped into one boot, and as soon as he strode out of the room Derek fell asleep, that dastardly mistress, pull him back.

\--

In the end Derek did not need Isaac to wake him. It was maybe an hour until noon that the scent of fresh bread reached Derek’s nostrils, and pulled him out of bed.

He dressed casually then walked slowly down the stairs to find Mistress Laver cooking what seemed to be luncheon. As he entered the kitchen, she handed him a plate with a fresh roll and some cured meat and shooed him out. 

He took his plate and went to sit in the dining room, but was caught off guard by Matthew hauling a beat up end table. He began to chew as he watched Matthew add it to a pile outside, then come back in. 

“I didn’t come here so I could haul furniture back and forth all day. This is no better than common servitude. When will I begin my training as a knight, Milord?”

“You already have.” Derek said, polishing off his biscuit. “Knights must do such menial tasks. We are sworn to chivalry, helping those in need who cannot help themselves.”

“But knights have swords –“

Derek sighed and stood up, walking over to Matthew briskly. “And when you have shown yourself to be worthy of a sword, then you will get one. You have a decent bed to sleep in, do you not?”

“I – “

“You took my sister’s room, which is not the room you are entitled to. It is higher than your station. You may, of course, keep the mattress when you move down to the squire’s quarters, which is where you belong. That room, that mattress, is for an Earl or an heir, which you are neither. Do you receive three meals a day? A room over your head? That horse I bought you?”

“Yes.” Matthew gulped out. Derek had moved closer and closer to him while speaking.

“Then there you have it. I did not choose you, Matthew, and it would do you well to know that I had twelve parents attempting to court me for their sons before we set off. My word as a knight is the only reason you are here. Do not,” he poked Matthew hard in the chest, “forget that.”

Matthew gulped again. “Yes Milord.”

“Matthew, what are they doing out there?”

“Setting up for the bonfire tonight.”

“With furniture from the house?”

“It was what Stiles requested.” Matthew parroted back.

“His Grace, Matthew. He is a count now.”

Derek could hear the mental eye roll from Matthew. “Yes, Milord.”

“Go fetch what you were sent to find.” Derek dismissed him with a wave of the hand. Hopefully this put the fear of God into that insolent little pup.

He shoved the last of the bacon into his mouth as he headed out toward the bonfire site. It was already piled high with an assortment of things. Nothing, in Derek’s mind, that would be missed, but he was curious.

“Stiles, what is going on here?”

Stiles, who had been helping Webster throw what was his father’s old saddle on the pyre, turned around. He had made himself very presentable, and he looked good with a light layer of sweat coating his brow and his shirtsleeves rolled up. Matthew could complain all he liked but Stiles was out there working just the same. Stiles had grown up working and knew the value of doing it yourself.

“Remember yesterday when I told you that you were a beautiful man and your prowess with the sword really elevated you?” Derek snorted but nodded. “Well this is another time that you listen to me and things will look up. This,” he gestured to the pyre behind him, “is a mismatch of things in the house that – well, that people who live here have found to be painful reminders of the past. Some of us would like those things to remain in the past now that your rule has started.

My fine lady Laura – well, once she lost your parents she went a little off the reigns. She was too kind and let that dreadful Peter stay instead of calling you back to be her own bailiff, and she caused more harm with that than good. This bonfire will allow some of those still healing wounds of your – our people,” he corrected himself so early, it was nice, “to truly be salved. Plus, Mistress Laver said the party last night was the talk of the town and that people like you already. This will just add to the love they are starting to foster. Plus, they like me and they will see you being amenable to my ideas means you have a lick of sense.”

“And what if I have sentimental feelings towards something in that pyre?”

“Then we’ll have a replica made. Some of this stuff is honestly on here because it’s tacky and I do not the place I live in to look so … ugly. Peter convinced Laura to use a lot of his friends as artisans for the house when she was redoing it. A lot of things had to be thrown out after the illness that took your parents.”

Derek nodded. “Then there is nothing I can do to prevent this from happening?”

“Wake up at a normal time in the future. Though it wouldn’t have held much sway anyway. Coar and Isaac were over the moon at the idea when I told them last night, and you know children.” Stiles smirked at his last sentence.

“You can be insufferable sometimes.”

Stiles chuckled. “And yet here we are, wed together until death do us part.” Stiles turned his head, as if he heard something, and sighed. “Now get out of my way. Go find something to put on the hearth or go bother someone else.”

Derek groaned but did as he was told after he kissed his husband. Stiles smiled into the kiss and patted him on the rear as he went. This is what it was like to be born common, he supposed. Lots of camaraderie and love between siblings and people. Things that were fun and exciting, not endless dinner parties and having his parents travel all the time, leaving Derek to train with whatever wandering knight had taken up residence. 

\--

Derek found himself counting the barrels of ale they had in the cellar when someone joined him. Derek was sure he had to order more.

“Milord!” Someone called, and it was just the Sherriff.

“John, should I order more ale?” Derek inquired. He didn’t know much about stock, but it felt like he had a bit down here.

“I always think there can be more ale, but it looks like you were gifted quite a lot for your wedding. Of course, it’s an easy way to do it when your sister-in-law is the one making the ale, eh?” John ribbed, and threw back his head in laughter as Derek examined the barrels further. “But why do we need more ale?”

“Stiles is holding some sort of bizarre bonfire to get rid of some of Laura’s things from the main house. She intends to burn all of the reminders of pain or what have you from the house tonight, to have things start fresh.

John smiled. “Thank God, what a smart idea.” Noticing Derek’s face, he added, “It wasn’t yours though, was it?”

Derek shook his head. “No, and I had my misgivings until you said that. If it will bring joy to my people and to Stiles, and will show I am not cruel like my sister apparently was, then let it be so. I just hope people do not expect me to be supplying a full meal or what have you. Unless,” Derek mused, tapping his chin with his finger, “unless they all bring water to make sure the fire goes out. We wouldn’t want the house to catch flame, or any of the forest nearby.”

“So, if people bring water they’ll be fed?” Derek nodded. “Splendid, you’ll have a small lake in your meadow by nightfall. I’ll tell the whole town, though they’d come no matter what. Lady Laura left little love, Milord.” Derek sighed and looked back at his ale. “Does something trouble you, Milord?”

“Well, yes. I mean, I have a husband and two children and I’m an earl now and how am I going to handle it all? What can I do? I know Stiles still slightly resents me for lying to him, and the kids don’t know me from Adam and the town only likes me because I married their bloody hero. I mean, my husband’s name is derived from yours, so surely you have some idea of what to do?”

“Be kind. Be kind to Stiles, show him you care about him and that you will not turn cruel. To the children, be kind and show that you are different than your parents were, then Lady Laura was. They were not always the best at accepting the bastards that they had to protect. As for the people, be kind and show them your generosity. You married one of their folk, the freemen, and you put on a hell of a spectacle for the whole town last night, so continuing with the ability to compromise and show them that the Earl notices more than his purse strings, then you will be accepted. Just be kind, Milord. We sure need it.”

Derek nodded somberly. “Would you like to go see the pyre?”

“Show me the way, Milord.”

\--

It had blossomed into a warm and wonderful afternoon, and Derek was watching the Sheriff play with Isaac when the hairs on his arm stood to attention. Derek wasn’t one for believing in premonitions or fairy stories, but something was amiss. 

Not more than five seconds later, Derek was on his back, the Sheriff clinging to him, as a large marble slab fell to where Derek stood. A brief shower of pebbles hit the two of them, but when the rubble cleared it was as plain as a nose on a face. The rock could’ve killed Derek easily, and the Sheriff had saved his life. The two laid on the ground for at least five or ten minutes, getting their bearings back. It was a scary ordeal.

Stiles had appeared in the interim, Isaac clinging to him and Cora staring at them from behind the curve of his waist. It wasn’t clear how long he’d been there, but Isaac looked really rattled, so Derek assumed maybe a minute. “What on Earth?” Stiles called. He clearly wanted to go over and attend to them, but Isaac was not moving. 

“It was one of the merlons. Someone must have pushed it over, causing it to fall.” The Sheriff said, staring up at the sky.

“Someone pushing it my ass.” Derek said, standing up and brushing the dirt off. “Those merlons were the first things to be built. They are old and unsteady; it was just this poor fellow’s time to fly.” Derek slapped the stone as if he believed it himself. It was kind of unusual. But who would want him dead?

“Milord, I beg to differ. I heard footsteps and I thought maybe it was just an echo from inside but it had to be someone up on the merlon. Someone is trying to kill you.”

“But who? It was Peter everyone disliked.” Derek looked at the top of the tower again. “I haven’t even been home a week.”

“Who knows, Milord? People have weird sentimentalities. Maybe Peter had more allies then we thought, though obviously not among the staff.” The Sheriff gestured to Isaac, who ran over and hugged him. 

Stiles took Derek’s chin in a firm hold and moved it left to right. “You look fine.”

“I’ve had much worse.” Derek replied frankly. 

“I don’t doubt it. Now, my – the Sheriff says that someone must have loosed it. Believe it true, Sheriff?”

“I do. Not many people go up there, but it didn’t rain last night and it is always dusty, so let’s see if we can find any footprints. The culprit is gone by now most likely.”

“I go up there sometimes.” Cora chimed in shyly. “Me ‘n Isaac look at the stars. But it wasn’t me.” She showed her clean hands, clean fingerbeds and all. And it wasn’t Isaac, he was down ‘ere playing with the Sheriff.”

“Thank you for telling us Cora. Neither you or Isaac is strong enough to push a merlon from it’s holding place, but it’s good to know so we don’t look for small faeries attempting to kill our fair Earl here.” The Sheriff said it almost goofily, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“The towers aren’t in use though.”

“No, haven’t been since my grandfather’s day. Someone with a light step or two children, what have you, could easily go up and down, but it is risky. To be honest, sir, you might want to rebuild them if given the chance.”

The Sheriff led the charge around the tower and soon they were at the base of the stairs. “See, look how worn they are. There are steps as well; the kids have well worth paths, you can see their small shoes and they take the same steps every time. However,” there were some larger prints, “someone spent a lot of time going up and down here last night. I suppose they loosened the merlon during the party.”

Both John and Derek ascended the stairs carefully, going one at a time and watching their step. There were spiders and bird excrement everywhere; there were missing steps and weird holes. Overall it was a lot grimmer in there than Derek remembered it being as a child, and a lot tighter of a squeeze. When they got through the trap door that led to the top, it was clear the Sheriff was right.

“See, Milord? Rubble.” 

Derek ducked down and looked at the pile. It was clear the cuts were fresh and had been man made. The cuts were too clean to be made by anything other than a metal object and two hands willing to make the merlon fall. Derek whistled. “There is a reason you are shire reeve.”

John nodded. “Glad that you believe me.”

“My lord Derek,” a voice called, “’Tis not safe up there. Monsieur Peter told me it was a death trap.”

Derek turned to find Matthew, looking worse for wear, calling up for him on the opposite side of the tower from Stiles and the children. “I know that, Matthew. Somehow a merlon fell from up here and nearly killed me.”

Matthew’s eyes bugged out. “Someone is trying to kill you?” His tone suggested that this might be the reason he left. Derek prayed it was. “Someone is trying to kill you, Milord!” 

Derek was almost touched Matthew seemed to be so terrified. “Obviously I am fine.”

“Milord, where is Sti- His Grace?”

Derek turned to shout at Stiles, but he and the children were gone. How peculiar, “I have no idea. Go ask Mistress Laver. And go move that mattress.”

Twas quite strange that Stiles and the children disappeared so quickly, but Derek wasn’t into conspiracies or speculation. “I thought I’d be done with this sort of caution when I left the Holy Land.”

“Caution, Milord?”

“Yes, caution! I’m being attacked in my own home for just merely being.” Derek sighed. “Well, what’s done is done. Would you mind showing me the way to the nearest place to purchase some more ale, John? It seems that we will need it.”

The Sheriff gestured at the stairs. “Be my guest.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another foiled attempt at Derek's life starts some gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> This chapter is mostly world building and I hate this part of the book, so I've condensed it. 
> 
> We only have 90-ish pages of the book left (thank God), so I should be around 16/17 chapters! Thanks so much for sticking with it! Also thank you for the continued kudos and comments, they are the real motivators.
> 
> Love to you all!

Stiles would always loathe Jackson Whittemore. Stiles knew that Jackson had nothing besides that blasted rebec and donkey (who had been banned from the night’s proceedings), but he was still a smug asshole by the by, and Stiles hated it. He hated his dirty, dishwater colored hair. He hated those bright, smarmy blue eyes. He hated how even his genuine smiles seemed like they were from the mouth of a cobra and not a man of five and twenty. He did admit that it was a lucky thing that he was handsome. At least his niece or nephew would be beautiful. 

Though he hoped they took to be more like Erica and not like Jackson at all in personality. Or like neither. Erica needed a child like … well, honestly, she needed a child that was rational, kind, and calming. 

Like Boyd. 

But Boyd was already grown. 

Plus, Jackson had an affinity for fine cloths and jewels. In fact, Stiles was sure Jackson’s outfit tonight was more expensive than his own. He had on a velvet jacket, ribbons all over and bells on his shoes. Stiles was unsure of the need for bells on boots, but it was probably some capital fashion nonsense, and Stiles couldn’t care less about that.

Derek had asked him to be at least civil during this dinner, as they had a wonderful party for their wedding and Erica and Jackson really had little to no attention paid to them the night before. This was more of a meal for their own wedding, not a continuing celebration of Derek and Stiles’. Stiles would’ve preferred that this was just a party for Erica. In fact, he would have preferred Erica stay unwed and that he and Derek and Scott had been able to chase Jackson out with those vile cousins of Derek’s. Stiles was sure that was where that atrocious outfit had come from.

The dinner ended up being very boring. Jackson seemed disenchanted with being displaced from his place in the manor house. He talked loudly about throwing out all of the things that Stiles and Erica had collected in their room, and took every opportunity he had to sneer at Scott or Derek. It was obvious he resented them for making him marry Erica, and Stiles’ palms itched. He wanted to go over the table, throttle Jackson and ask if he wanted Deaton to come and annul the marriage if he was that unhappy.

Instead, he excused himself from the meal after it was done and the ale was brought out. He needed some air, and though he loved his family, he missed having some peace and quiet. 

He ended up atop some barrels of hay, staring at the stars. In fact, Stiles was almost asleep when soft footfalls approached him. Not willing to be attacked, he went for the knife in his boot. When his attacker was in range, he sprung up and pounced.

It had only been Matthew. Stiles sighed. “What do you want, you daft boy? Do you not know how to call out and introduce yourself?”

Matthew blubbered. “Sorry, Stiles. I mean, Sir. I mean –‘

“Get to what you have to say.” Stiles had spent most of the day sniping at Matthew and his lack of engagement in the task of piling things up. He just wanted to be alone. He got off the incompetent squire, who stood up and brushed himself off. After a few moments, he took a breath.

“The Hales – Peter and Julia. Have you heard any word about them?” Matthew seemed genuinely curious.

Stiles snorted. “They haven’t even been gone a day, so no. Why, do they owe you coin like they do their master?”

“No, no.” Matthew sputtered. “It’s just,” he took a breath in, then puffed his chest out. “Well, matter of fact, it seems like they were very sadly used by His Lordship.”

This caused a fit of laughter from Stiles, so hard he slapped Matthew on the arm and sent him canting to the right. “I like that! Sadly used indeed! I’m supposing you heard that from Julia herself.”

“Nay! Well, what if I had?” He sounded haughty. “There is a lady used to the finer things in life and then she is suddenly cast out from everything that she knew? How is she to provide for herself?”

Stiles laughed again. “Squire, do not worry. Women like Julia, they’re like cats. They always land on their feet. Her and her father are not your concern.”

“Couldn’t you have a word with His Lordship about it?”

“A word to His Lordship about?” Stiles thought the boy was almost asking –

“A word to His Lordship on their behalf. A kind word or two from you, Milord, and His Lordship might take it to heart. I know he is angry about what he perceives as mismanagement of the estate, but there were circumstances beyond Peter’s control.”

This little outburst caused Stiles’ mouth to flatten. He took no time in laying Matthew flat on his back again, and settling over him, dagger against his neck. “You forget, Matthew, that you have been here not a week and I have lived here my whole life. The older Hales, may they rest in peace, Lady Laura, and then Peter. I was their vassal, and you were a squire coming in with the Lord of the castle. You did not live on this land, watch its people starve. You are a spoiled, rich little boy who has let the first words of people who you see as your own kind cloud your judgement. The Hales, the ones that left? Well they took from the needy, the hungry, made some people beggars, and didn’t suffer a lick from it. You don’t know what poverty is like, young one. You know nothing. 

You are asking me,” Stiles pointed at himself with his free hand, “to vouch for people who accused me of murder, besmirched my family’s name, and would’ve had me hanged if they didn’t realize they didn’t have to give me my third. So no, I will not. If you ask again, if you even think of contacting them, well, you’ll earn yourself a one way ticket home. Or in the ground, if you aren’t careful. You need to learn that a rounded opinion is smarter than pretty words from a beautiful woman.” Stiles slowly stood up. “You may go back to the manor house now, Matthew, and I expect that all of your belongings will be put up neatly in the squire’s room when we get back. His Lordship is already unhappy with you.”

Matthew scrambled away, clearly frightened. Stiles, happy that he could still scare people, whistled back through the manor house.

\--

Luckily for Stiles, it only took one song of Jackson’s before Derek asked if Stiles was ready to go home, and Stiles immediately jumped up in joy. They left with polite farewells and a reminder of the fire that night, then went out to the stables to mount and head back home.

Stiles had already mounted Blueberry and was conversing about how Matthew needed to be trained when he noticed something amiss with Derek and his horse.

The horse, instead of beginning to trot, had started to buck. Derek had seen Cam face down scorpions and blades the length of his legs, but he was holding on for dear life to his precious horse. Something had spooked him.

“Jump, Derek, jump!” Stiles dismounted quickly.

All of Stiles’ family, including Allison, Scott’s fiancé, had exited the house at Cam’s first whiny, and were calling for him to do the same. Ashamed that he could not even control his own horse, Derek refused until Scott, pale faced, asked him to do the same. “He wants you off, Milord!”

Derek threw himself into Stiles, and they both went tumbling down. 

Stiles recovered first with a hard slap on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you just jump when I asked you to? Why did you wait for Scott’s okay?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Because.”

Stiles rolled his eyes back. “I know as much about horses as he does! Besides, what did you even do to that poor beast?” Stiles pulled himself up, then trotted up to Cam and offered his hand. Cam seemed sheepish of his stunt, and Stiles examined him quickly. 

“It doesn’t look like anything is physically wrong with him.” Scott said from the other side of Cam.” 

Stiles was checking a hoof when Scott pulled back the saddle and found a burr. “Looks as if a burr slipped under the saddle. Tis why he reacted so poorly, Milord. Wasn’t anything you had done.” Scott tossed it over his shoulder. “Should be right as rain.”

“How did a burr whittle its way into the saddle when we were dining?”

“Someone put it there apurpose!” Someone cried, and they turned around and saw Matthew. 

Stiles began to see red.

“Matthew, why are you here and not at the manor house? When we left you hadn’t even begun to move downstairs.” Derek said calmly. Stiles was confused, but then watched Derek’s palm flex.

“Someone tried to kill you?” Erica asked meekly.

“Someone pushed a merlon down from a tower,” Matthew continued, unawares at how angry Derek was becoming, “and it almost killed His Lordship –“

“Silence you bloody mongrel!” Allison clutched her hand to her chest. “You will shut your mouth until we get back to the manor, where I intend to wear a hole in your hide! The fact that my children, who aren’t even ten yet, can hold their tongues and know when it’s appropriate to speak while you cannot is a disappointment to both me and the memory of your father. Now get!”

Matthew took off like a bat out of hell, getting onto his horse and setting it at a firm trot at first, then, when his horse seemed ready, at a gallop.

Stiles got on his horse, then Derek, and they waved goodbye at a less intense pace, murmuring between the other.

The members of the Crais family returned inside, mumbling about that awful squire, but Allison and Jackson stood in the doorway.

“Did it seem strange to you that Stiles was unperturbed when Matthew mentioned a merlon almost killing his husband?” Jackson wondered aloud. 

“Yes it did. It also seemed strange that he wasn’t too worried about the burr in the saddle, even though he did ask where it came from.” Allison mused.

“That Stiles, always been a little strange, y’know? Find it funny that he actually agreed to marry His Lordship, and right after, there are all these attempts on His Lordship’s life.” Jackson continued, watching them ride away.

“Very strange. I think I shall bring it up with my father.” Allison, though she loved Stiles, had no qualms asking her father if he found the behavior unusual. He was the mayor after all.

“I think that a wonderful idea.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bonfire goes terribly awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> Close.
> 
> To.
> 
> The end.
> 
> I've really begun to condense stuff now, so if you've read the book, you'll probably be a little confused. This is a lot more of an adventure chapter then the last one.
> 
> Thank you so much for your kudos and comments, it means so much to me! Lots of love and light. Feedback is always welcome. :)

If the entire village of Stephensgate had turned out for the wedding the day before, then the whole county had turned up for the bonfire. Derek surveyed the crowd and saw plenty of people who looked as bad as he had felt that morning. He was surprised by the sheer number of people that had shown up just to see his family’s possessions destroyed, and a little ashamed that this many people held some member of his family in contempt.

Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he had become the earl. Maybe he could scrub the Hale name clean.

It wasn’t very long after the party had begun that a vassal that tended a field on his property came up to Derek and began to complain about how this field’s grass was to be trodden on and what was his flock to eat for the upcoming summer? Derek shut him up with a sum and a friendly shove.

When he turned back to find Stiles, he was greeted heartily by the Sheriff. “Quite a crowd here tonight, Milord. Seems that Stiles was correct in wanting, what is the phrase, the manor to be ‘out with the old, in with the new?” The Sheriff raised a cup to him.

Derek merely grunted. He knew the merit of Stiles’ plan, but now he was starting to see what shape his vassals were in and he didn’t like it.

“I also heard that a second attempt was made on your life this afternoon.” The Sheriff took a sip, looking over the rim of his cup.”

“Bloody rot, it was just a burr beneath my saddle. Hardly life threatening.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t let it go so quickly. I’ve seen many men lose his life in a fall from a horse.”

“Well I didn’t fall.”

“No, but someone wanted you to.” The Sheriff sighed, “I fear for you. Someone wants you dead, and they will not rest until it is achieved.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want Stiles to freak out, he already has a sister to worry about.” It was a lame excuse.

“I’m afraid Milord, that is whose name keeps getting thrown around. Who people think the culprit of these vile pranks are. In fact, Chris Argent, rot his soul, brought it up to me on the way here.” Clearly there was no love lost between the shire reeve and the mayor.

“Whoever said that can go to the devil. You can even tell Chris Argent I said that. Which one is he, anyway?”

Derek began to turn, looking for any clue of who the mayor was, but instead he got an armful of Stiles. “Sheriff, husband, refills?” Stiles blinked up at Derek mischievously. “I know you did quite a bit of activity this afternoon, Your Grace.”

“We both could do with a refill, yes.” It took but moments, then Derek had a full glass and a resolve to talk. He hopped onto a pile of hay, so he could survey his people. “Good people of Stephensgate!” Everyone turned to look at him. “Yesterday you came to my house and celebrated my wedding.” There were hoots and hollers abound at this statement, so Derek waited for them to die down. “Tonight marks a new beginning for you and for me. I am not my parents, my sister or my wretched uncle. Tonight, all outstanding debts to my household will be forgotten –“

A cheer went up from all of the people. Derek felt like a god from a myth, people cheering at him merely existing.

“I hope that this can be a fresh start. I know my family has messed up in the past, but I would like to leave it there. Tonight we say goodbye to all of the bad memories and make way for new ones! Now, who has the torch?” Another loud cry came up, and a torch was shoved into Derek’s waiting hand. 

He then gave it to Stiles. “After you, my lord.”

Stiles gave him a wide grin, then walked over to the pile of belongings that were doused in oil and ready to be lit. “Good riddance to bad rubbish!” Stiles yelled and set the pillar aflame. 

It bespelled the people of Stephensgate for a few minutes, the roar of the fire, the scent of burning wood and oil. 

It was broken by Cora walking up to the pile and throwing a thick leather belt into the flame. Isaac followed behind and threw what looked like a key after it.

“Do I want to know?” Derek asked, but the Sheriff shook his head. 

“Better you didn’t.”

Derek stood horrified as many people did the same. Some things didn’t even belong to his own household, but these people had memories of his family’s behavior within their own homes. He saw pieces of parchment with words Derek knew most couldn’t read on it. It broke his heart in a way to know that not only were his people uneducated, they had to be made a fool of when they were given bills in a language they couldn’t understand. He watched piece after piece of the town go up in smoke.

Until someone threw in a scarecrow that resembled his Uncle Peter, and everyone cheered. Music sprang up out of nowhere and people began to mill about, talking to their neighbors or their family members. Derek could see each one of his sisters-in-law, talking to each other in the corner. Erica was sitting on a bale of hay in a dress way too fancy for such a gathering. Derek supposed it was Scott’s comeuppance. She had to wear her fancy gowns to things that weren’t fancy. 

Derek hoped the mud didn’t spoil too much of it.

Derek found Stiles and snaked an arm around his waist. “Do you think it better now?”

Stiles smiled and nodded. “Much better.” Stiles glanced off into the distance, his eyes widening. “I have to go see something, Derek.”

Derek let go, and for a few minutes it was tranquil. John found him again and they began to speak about Stiles, Derek’s back to the fire.

“Stiles – well, to be honest, Stiles has a mind of his own, Milord. I don’t know why he is being so hospitable. This isn’t like him.”

“It seems to be.”

“Sir,” the Sheriff began, “I can tell you that no one takes advantage of him and lives to tell the tale. Well, that’s kind of harsh, but –“ John’s eyes widened, “Move!”

“What?” Derek asked, turning around. Not even the warning could have saved him the time though, he saw the arrow coming through the fire. It was quick and seamless, bursting through the flames and into his shoulder.

Someone was calling for Stiles, and the Sheriff hovered over him, telling him to not try and speak. Derek knew it would be fruitless either way. The pain was excruciating, and Derek mused to himself as people gathered above him. He had fought ten years in a war in a foreign land, and here he was, bleeding out in his own sheep pasture. It wasn’t until he heard someone call for Deaton that he came back to himself. 

“You don’t think it is that bad, do you, John?”

“I do indeed Milord. And where is Stiles?”

“He shouldn’t be far, Milord.” The deputy – Boyd – said, standing over him. “But I think it’s you that should do the fetching.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

Boyd frowned and pointed at the arrow shaft. It was blue and purple, something Derek had never seen before. The Sheriff turned pale.

“What are you two prattling on about? Where is Stiles?”

“Can someone also find Melissa?” The Sheriff shouted, and it was at this moment that Derek pulled the older man’s body close to his.

“What is going on? Tell me or I’ll rip your throat out.”

The Sheriff went even more pale. “Well, Sir, there is only one person in the whole country of England that dyes their arrows blue and purple.” Derek glared. “It is Stiles. And I hate to tell you this, Stiles never misses.”

Derek felt like laughing, and it only caused pain as it was a deep belly laugh. “Surely you cannot think Stiles did this?”

“I think nothing of the kind.” The Sheriff extracted his hand and then laid it down beside him. “You are losing blood.”

Derek knew this. Firstly, everyone was treating him like a duckling. Secondly, he could only see straightforward, which meant that the only object in view was John Stilinski’s face. He still had his wits about him, though, and knew what the look on his shire reeve’s face was.

“Do not let them take him into custody. He didn’t do this; he doesn’t belong in jail.”

“Sir, calm down. I know he didn’t, but he isn’t some fainting maiden who - you know. He won’t be harmed.”

“People will think – “

“People will think what they may, Sir, Leave it to me, I was detailed earlier in town by the visit of a friend and wasn’t able to make sure your uncle and his retinue made it past Leesbury.”

It was then that he relaxed into the grass. It would all work out. It was at that moment that Stiles’ worried face came into view.

“Derek, Derek, what happened? Don’t be dead, don’t be dead.” Stiles mumbled, grabbing his hand. 

Derek, however, couldn’t say a thing. He merely shut his eyes and knew no more.

\--

Stiles was, frankly, in shock. He surveyed the scene and was so befuddled. All he had done was go make sure that Erica had found a way back to the manor house and his husband was bleeding on the ground. Bleeding from – one of his arrows?

What in the world.

“Who did this? How did they get my arrow?” Stiles screeched. He was surprised he didn’t wake Derek back up with that shrill sound.

His father figure pulled at him, but it took him and Scott to drag him away from Derek’s body. Stiles had begun to shake he was so wrought with nerves, and Scott held his hand as Melissa began to look at Derek’s body.

“’Tis deeply embedded, but it missed his heart.” She said frankly.

Stiles reared up. “Will he live?”

“Only God knows that.”

Stiles crumpled back to the ground. Who could have taken one of his arrows? He had left them under the bed. The only person that knew where they were was Derek. But he clearly could not shoot himself. “Who did this?”

“Who indeed?” Came a particularly snarky voice, and everyone turned their heads to look at Matthew, Derek’s squire. “I find it fairly obvious.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “What dare say you, boy?” Scott spat the word out.

“Aye, I dare say that your brother has attempted to murder Lord Theoderek not once, not twice, but thrice!”

The Sheriff had to wrestle Scott to the ground so that a second murder did not occur that night. During the tumble, Lydia and Erica had come to stand behind Stiles, one had gripping each shoulder.

“Tis true.” A new voice called out, and when its owner strode up, it was Chris Argent himself. “The boy tells the truth. My daughter saw an attempt this afternoon, and the boy told her of one made just this morning. Stiles had the opportunity both times. And it would be just like him to murder a spouse.”

Lydia responded coolly. “No one thinks that Stiles murdered Lady Laura except you and that foul Peter.”

Malia nodded. “You’ve had it out for him since Scott started to court Allison. You are always looking for a reason to hate our family.” Stiles appreciated her honesty in that moment. “Besides, Stiles actually loves this one.”

Stiles wouldn’t go _that_ far, but.

“Sheriff, you arrest that boy –“

“His title is Count, Mayor Argent.” Lydia countered. “He is married and has consummated that.”

Chris Argent turned cruel eyes on her. “Arrest him under suspicion of having murdered the Earl.”

The whole crowd went abuzz, and you could hear many voices shouting about how unfair this was. Matthew Fairchild broke through the crowd. 

“Sheriff, tis no way Stiles did this. Any simpleton can tell –“

“Any simpleton, eh?” Chris added on.

“Aye, I’ve heard you refer to me as simple many a time, Mayor Argent.” Matthew Fairchild countered back. “But Lord Stiles isn’t. If he had wanted to kill Lord Theoderek, he wouldn’t have shot from through a fire, and he wouldn’t have shot with his own arrows. He is too smart for that.”

“And besides, we all know if Stiles had wanted His Lordship dead, well, he wouldn’t have missed.” Lydia finished.

“This is all fine and dandy, but I am the mayor of this town, and even though he is royalty, he still attempted to kill his husband. Sheriff, will you arrest him or should I?”

Stiles saw his mentor’s eyebrow jump, showing how close he was to hauling off and hitting the mayor himself. Then it dawned on him. _If Derek dies, I die._ Argent was already sure it was him.

During this exchange, men had come to move Derek back to the manor house. “I’ve got to go.” Stiles mumbled, standing up and dusting himself off. 

“Stiles …” Scott said, standing in between him and Derek’s prone body. 

“I am his husband!” Stiles’ voice cracked. “He could die!” He sounded more like three and ten instead of almost twenty. 

“Yep, another sign Stiles didn’t do this,” Malia said to Lydia, “he isn’t this good of an actor.”

Stiles tried to get past Scott but Matthew stepped in his way. “Stay where you are, murderer. You cannot let him out of your sight, Sheriff. He knows the woods better than anyone.”

Stiles gave into the urge and socked Matthew in the mouth. He went down like a sack of grain. There was faint clapping for this. “You know, you are nothing but a pain in my side, and His Lordship’s. When this is all cleared up, I would clear out if I was you.”

“See? He’s threatening me.”

The Sheriff sighed. “Kid, if he hadn’t, I’m afraid that punch would have been the least of your worries. Due to your impudence –“

“Impudence?” The mayor cackled.

“Chris, shut up or I’ll make you.”

“Any which way, Stiles didn’t do this. It is ridiculous that any of you should think that of him. He has been a better provider for this shire than any Hale before him,” a few here here’s came out, “Someone shot Lord Theoderek, but it wasn’t my brother! Find the real murderer.” Scott glared at Matthew.

“There is no need to look further, your brother shot him. He’s guilty, he should have been hanged a year ago –“

“And he didn’t because Peter Hale realized he didn’t have to give up a third of the estate and got you to shut your trap too.” Lydia countered. It was almost as if she was bored. “When His Lordship is up to it, Christopher, I shall let him know of your knavery. Maybe he’ll allow a woman to be mayor of this town, since you are clearly just a bloodhound.”

“See? My sister is right. Did anyone see him draw a bow this night? Is there anyone here who can positively identify Stiles as the shooter?” There was dead silence.

Matthew challenged this. “Did anyone here even draw a bow tonight?”

“Shut up, child!” Chris screeched.

“My brother wears no quiver, nor has any bow been found. He isn’t even wearing his gloves for God’s sake!” Scott was shaking with rage.

“And,” Lydia added, “the house is wide open. Anyone could’ve gone in during the fire and taken things from wherever they were stored. Stiles was gone for less than five minutes during the bonfire. Everyone saw him.”

“That is enough! It is time for him to go in the stockade.”

“We haven’t even seen about an alibi, old man.” John waved at him. “Stiles, whatever were you doing during the time you left?”

“I was helping Erica to a dogcart. She wasn’t feeling well and went home. Mavis Fairchild took her because the babe wasn’t feeling well. Mistress Laver was finishing a cup of warm milk for the babe.” Stiles answered quickly. “I’m sure you could send deputies to check if you don’t believe me.”

“Boyd, Jordan, go ask those people if his alibi rings true. And,” John turned back to Chris, “if they do then he is free. I will be taking His Grace,” John etched out those words, “back to my home. My mother is a better and more fair warden than any one you would try to bestow upon this boy.”

“Any warden would be fair.” Chris spat.

“Well, sir, I think you protest too much. In fact, I don’t think this about Stiles at all, is it?” Malia asked frankly. 

“Sister mine, I couldn’t have said it better myself. I know you wish Allison find a much richer man with a less rowdy family. How convinent for you that the sibling you have already viciously attacked is getting framed for murder that he didn’t commit –“

“What are you implying?”

“Oh, did you not hear me? Let me project.” Lydia raised her voice so the people in the back could hear it. “I will gladly repeat myself, Mayor. I am glad to do so that these folk may hear how you abandoned your better judgment for the sake of a son in law with such relations.”

“What?”

Chris looked ready for another rant, but John stood toe to toe with him. “You forget that I am the reeve of this shire, given the post directly by His Majesty the King. You, the mayor, are elected by the free people and here to enforce them. You have no say in who goes in my jails, what crime they are punished for, nothing.”

“So be it!” Chris raised his hands wearily. “But if he escapes, and Lord Theoderek dies, it’ll be on your head.”

“When the real culprit is found, Mayor, it’ll be your job on the block. And then again, you’ll also have the Earl and Count of the county against you, and maybe they won’t want you in their family at all.” Lydia spat out, and Malia stomped in agreement. 

The Sheriff offered Stiles a hand off of the ground, and Stiles took it willingly. “Looks like it is you, me and my mother, kid.” Stiles shrugged, staring off at the manor house. 

Lydia slid to his side. “Stiles, I’ve let the Sheriff know I’ll be staying with Melissa tonight. Is there anything I can bring you later?”

Stiles just shrugged. The Sheriff’s horse had been brought around, and Stiles hopped into the front of the saddle, ignoring the noise below him.

Scott had taken the reigns to the horse and was talking to the Sheriff.

“I will not tolerate this.”

“Fear not, Scott. The truth will out, especially with this alibi. I’m sure the three women will confirm that, but Stiles has been known to be quick on his feet. We’ll just need alibis for the other two incidents. Whoever is trying to kill His Lordship will stop at nothing until he is dead, and so Stiles will be safer with my mother than at some jail.”

Scott nodded, and added, “Whomever does this has to be in Peter’s pocket. I thought Peter had killed Lady Laura – or maybe his wretched daughter had – but now it seems an enemy is here, wearing the smile of a friend.”

“I shall post men outside of his room, and only Lydia and Melissa shall be allowed to enter. Unless this enemy can walk through walls, he should be fine then.” Scott nodded.

The Sheriff turned back to Stiles. “Just like old times, eh?” Stiles used to help patrol when he was younger, before he and Blueberry could ride alone.

“Come on,” Chris called, “can you at least bind his hands? Maybe tie them and make him walk behind you –“

“Father, can you give it a rest!” Allison called. “Tis all unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary? He should’ve hung for one murder, what’s another one? Or two? Or even three? He might murder the whole Stilinski house! And besides, Allison, I cannot believe you are standing up for him. You’re the one who begged me to have him arrested. And now you are taking his side?”

The whole Crais family froze.

“Father!” Allison screeched.

“No, Allison, let your father finish.” Scott said calmly.

“Well, after she ate lunch at the millhouse this afternoon, she comes back and tells me of falling merlons,” Chris gestured to the castle, “and burrs that magically appear under saddles, and I hate to say it, I didn’t know what to believe. But after this, she had me convinced.”

“Oh.” Scott said, and Stiles’ heart broke even further. He knew his brother as well as he knew himself, and this was years of love that had been thrown away like a bone to a dog. Scott turned to Allison. “Mademoiselle, I can only assume from your behavior that you wish to end our betrothal.”

“Scott!”

“I release you, and I wish you a long life and much happiness. I hope,” Scott cleared his throat, “I hope you can forgive me for wasting your time. You have made it very clear my time and my happiness mean nothing to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go tend to my sister.”

Scott strode off, and Allison’s face was wide with horror. “What have I done?”

“What I have been trying to do for the last two years. Thank you.” Chris added. “Now –“

John pulled his horse by the angry mayor. “Now goodnight, sir.”

He and Stiles rode silently off to the Sheriff’s house.


	13. All that lies thereafter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything finally comes to a head. What happens to Derek? Will Stiles ever be free of his jail? Who tried to kill Derek anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so .... the reason this wasn't updated was half because I had no motivation. The other half was ....
> 
>  
> 
> Well, I lost the book and I wasn't really interested in repurchasing.
> 
> HOWEVER, I found it under my kitchen sink tonight so I figured why the hell NOT finish it.
> 
> So here it is! Let me know how you like it.

Isaac knew that he had done something wrong when the man he called his father was shot down. He crept away and hid because he knew he was as guilty as the man that had strewn the bow.

He had seen the man fiddling with the merlon the day it was almost deposited onto his father’s head. He ought to have told the Sheriff, or even Stiles. Stiles had always been a friend to him and Cora, even when they weren’t step-son and step-father. He could have even told his father or his sister, but he hadn’t.

He had crept out a while later, feeling brave enough to tell someone and he found no one. He couldn’t even find his sister, but he figured she was probably out in the woods trying to find clues. She was much braver than he was.

Until now. 

While the healer fiddled about trying to heal his father, he took his father’s sword and went looking for the perpetrator. It wasn’t as if anyone saw him anyways. His hair was always covered in dirt from the day’s work, his face smudged with the same from when his sister would inevitably rub it in said dirt. Isaac had learned to be a shadow because if he and Cora weren’t, they would meet the wrath of Lady Laura.

Isaac was glad that his father had ended up being nothing like her. He wouldn’t’ve cared overmuch about him if he had been cold and cruel. Instead he was quiet and firm, but he brought a warmth with him. A warmth of soul. 

And Stiles. Stiles let him have a proper bath with heat and lavender and had given him new clothes. He had managed to not tear them today either, which made him happy.

However, he would probably rip his clothes during his plan. Cora would’ve been a better choice for this plot, but Isaac would have to do.

It didn’t take long for his pretty to come around. Matthew thought quite a bit of himself, big city boy that he was, and every day his attitude just got worse. Isaac couldn’t understand: he had a roof over his head, warm food every meal and people that were kind around him. Instead, Matthew had grown crueler after Peter and Julia had left. He also complained all of the time about simple things, like cleaning his horse and wiping off his shoes. 

Matthew was making his way toward the door when Isaac popped out. “You are not to go into my father’s room.” He said calmly, brandishing his sword. 

“Your father!” Matthew snorted. “That man is not your father, you insolent child. Put that sword down.”

As Matthew advanced, Isaac held the sword firm.

However, this brought Mistress Laver out from where she was hovering over Derek. “What are you two lads doing? Isaac, give that sword here.” Her hand gestured for it quickly, and Isaac sighed and handed it over. Twas useless to think Mistress Laver would believe him about this when he had been fiddling about with the sword and hadn’t taken down the deceiver. “Now stay quiet.” With that, she turned back into the room.

Isaac felt a hand come down on his shoulder. “Now what’s this about Lord Theoderek being your father?” Isaac tried to shrug him off but he was a good deal bigger. “Tell me. I am quite a bit bigger than you, so if you don’t play nicely, I have other ways of getting information.”

Isaac wanted so badly to slip back into the shadows. This is why Cora was more successful at her schemes – she had better timing. 

“Now tell me about being His Lordship’s son.” Isaac remained as still as a statue. “Has he even called you son? Does he even know your name?” Matthew laughed maliciously. “I bet not.”

“He has. Aye, he’s called me it a few times.”

“Is that so?” The light fell on Matthew’s face oddly, giving him a nasty silhouette. “So if he dies, are you the heir?”

Isaac frowned. “Don’t think so. Wouldn’t it be His Grace?”

Matthew laughed. “That bastard can’t give him children.” Matthew lifted his hand and Isaac took off in a sprint. “Even so, can’t take any chances that you are.” With that, Matthew tore after him.

\----

 

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the Sheriff’s house that Stiles broke down in tears, sobbing awkwardly into the back of the Sheriff’s tunic. Stiles was lucky the Sheriff was a second father to him; most other men would’ve locked him up for his odd emotions. 

“Stiles, son, it’ll be alright. You are not bad at all; Mayor Argent has a temper and you must not let him upset you so. After all, Lord Theoderek still lives…” The implied ‘and so do you’ was not comforting.

“But for how long?” How long until I am executed for a murder I didn’t commit, a crime against a person he had grown to like. 

“You know despite all that, I think His Lordship has a few good years left in him. Still mighty young, as you well know.”

“You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

“No, but he isn’t dead. I don’t think you shot him either.” Stiles rolled his eyes, “But I am curious as to who did. He’s only been in town a few days, who could be his enemy?” The Sheriff had found nothing but a sensible man. Murder was an evil thing, so it had to be done for some reason. “My only thought is…”

“Is who?”

“The man who laid the same claim a year ago.”

“You mean Peter? Why would he want to kill Derek, for turning him out of the house?”

“We’ve both seen him do crueler things for less of a reason. Plus, if His Lordship was out of the way, the title would fall to Peter.”

“That’s impossible. The title would fall to either Cora or Isaac.”

“But did His Lordship declare them his heirs?” A pregnant pause fell. “And Peter has such a devotion to the estate, spent such a long time toiling over this land, with his ‘friends in court’, I could see him overturning Cora or Isaac.”

Didn’t Stiles know it. “You must stop him, Sheriff. He won’t rest until he gets what he wants, and that’s Derek’s head on a platter! He’s in such danger. If only you’d release me, I could bring him and that brat Jennifer here by sunrise.”

“Lord Theoderek is not the only one in peril from him. Which is why you are under arrest, even if you are just confined to my house. The last thing this community – the last thing I need, quite frankly, is to have you disappear under the moon after Peter himself. You’ll stay with my mother and help her clean the roof or something. She’s always on me to do it…”

“And you’ll go stay with Derek and make sure nothing happens? That he isn’t …”

“Of course I will, child. Of course.”

They were barely a stone’s throw away from the house when something small came bounding through the woods. 

“Who’s there?” The Sheriff said, raising his bow. 

A head of knotty long, brown hair popped out of a bush. “Just me. I wanted to – I wanted to stay with Stiles. Isaac’s with father and so Stiles needs protection as well.”

The Sheriff nodded. “Of course.” He mumbled softly to Stiles, “it’ll give my mother something to do – make a lady out of her.”

Stiles snorted as he dismounted.

\---

When Derek fully regained consciousness, the sun was high in the sky and poured through his windows. Derek ran naturally warm, but the sun driving down on him was turning him into an overheated pot. 

Turning his head, which felt as if it had been stuffed with wool, he saw the stove itself burning bright, and he felt the burden of piles of blankets atop him. It felt as if a whole pack of wolves was laying on his chest. 

Derek tried to shove the blankets away but he was too weak to even form a fist around them. What the hell had happened, he thought as his shoulder throbbed. Had he drank too much again and run into a wall? His dry mouth was a sign he might’ve, and why Stiles had left him to fend on his own. He couldn’t even see any water.

“Ah, you’re awake!” A voice echoed, and Derek winced. 

“Sheriff.” Derek looked down at the blankets, then up again, frowning. “Get these damned pelts off me before I suffocate.”

“Gladly, m’lord, gladly.” John took unholy glee in throwing them towards the end of the bed. “Should I go get Mistress Laver?”

Derek shook his head. If he found John’s voice loud, he would find the scolding Mistress Laver was to give him intolerable. “Where is Stiles? Did he send you up here to make fun of me?”

“Do you not remember, my Lord?” Derek frowned further, so John sighed. “You did lose consciousness, I forgot. You’ve been out these past two days –“

“Two days!” Derek exclaimed. This lead to a coughing fit. “If I’ve been out for two days, then where is Stiles?” 

“Safe. Well, bored out of his mind but safe. He and Cora are being tutored by my mother in proper etiquette during his arrest. Needless to say, Stiles should be able to cobble some shoes after this …”

“His arrest?”

“Yes, he was arrested for his attempt to murder you. Of course his alibi checked out, but you know Mayor Argent, always with the vendetta against him, especially now that Scott has broken off the engagement to Allison and she’s furious.”

Derek did not care overmuch for Brother Scott still. “So he’s bothering your mother in your own house.”

“Been quite nice actually. Mother bothers them all day so she’s tuckered out by the time I get home to eat supper. But then Stiles gave me a basket and sent me back here so it was kind of a moot point …” The Sheriff trailed off. “But it is safer for the both of them to not be out and about. The killer is still out there.”

“And the lord mayor will die.”

“Now now, you can’t just kill him for standing up for what he believes in. Even if it is wrong.”

“I have a feeling he is often wrong.”

“Well he did inherit the position from his father, who was always wrong, may his soul rot in hell.” John went to spit on the floor, but thought better of it. “Anyway, we believe it is your uncle Peter that is behind all of this.”

“Of course he is, entitled prat hanging onto my family’s coattails. He did say I hadn’t seen the last of him and I guess he was right.”

“Indeed he was. I believe now it was his intent to kill you and have Stiles hang for the crime.”

“He dies as well.”

“My Lord, if you kill everyone that crosses you or doubts you, I don’t think you’ll have many tenants left by the time you die. Besides, now that I figured it out, I’m trying to find him. Turns out he doesn’t have any friends in Leesbury, where he said he’d go..”

“I’ll find Peter as soon as I get better.”

“He might as well be in the Holy Land by now, My Lord. Isn’t in any hostel, nor home, nor barn within fifty miles. No one has seen hide nor hair of him. However, I think I know who the perpetrator was – your squire has gone missing as well.”

“Matthew?”

“His room is cleaned out and his horse is gone from the barn as well. Webster didn’t even hear him leave, so he must’ve snuck out with a morning meal. Looks like he’s gone –“

“Back to the city probably. Never really meant for a knight’s life, that boy. Probably missed his mother.”

“I was going to say to Peter.”

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“Well, I checked with all of the staff here and the townsfolk and no one saw Matthew that night. He was awfully close with your uncle and your cousin those few days before you threw them out. “

“What are you saying, that he was swayed by Peter’s cunning?”

“Nay, he was swayed more by Julia’s eyes. Think about it – Matthew knows how wealthy you are. If he helps Peter take you down, Peter inherits and could keep him on to live in splendor with a beautiful young woman. Matthew has some sort of pull, with his mother being in London and all, and I wouldn’t doubt Peter and Julia promised him that she and he would wed if he got the job done. She probably seduced him.”

“Seduced that wreck of a boy?”

“Did she not try to do the same to you?” Derek’s eyes widened. He finally saw the reason that the King had given John this position. He was a keen observer of goings on, even when he was drinking a pint at a kitchen table. He then recalled the scene of coming to the manor and finding Matthew drunk and acting like the was a little lord. It all made sense. 

“So, My Lord, when you rejected her, she went to Matthew for comfort. Spun a tale of lies and shared her … wiles. She had probably been working on him since he got here but it was just too easy a shot to make. So they turned your squire against you.”

“You’re saying?”

“They told Matthew which merlon to push over. He had access to the house, so he could get into your quarters and filch one of Stiles’ arrows. Son, if Stiles wanted to kill you, do you think he’d have missed?” It went silent for a few moments. “So they take you out, take Stiles out, and you have no new will since you’ve been in town for a week and they have to follow your sisters’, which gives the estate to your uncle. He then throws Cora and Isaac out and lives in splendor. The end.” John chuckled. “Peter has more balls then I thought.”

Derek was fuming. “Balls I will cut off as I throuroughly execute him, limb by limb.” Derek went to sit up and sighed. “Where are my clothes?”

“Mistress Laver took them. She said she’d seen you in your altogether enough to not be phased. Where do you think you’re going, My Lord?”

“To find Peter.”

“And where will you go? How will you find him if my men’ve had no luck?” Derek stopped, huffing as he tried to get out of bed. “You’re supposed to stay abed or you’ll reopen your wound.”

Derek snarled at John, but only because he knew the Sheriff was right. He already felt woozy. “Wait, where is the boy?”

“My lord, I just told you that Matthew is with Peter – “

“No, Isaac. My – my son. You said Cora is with Stiles, but where is my son?”

John’s eyes widened.

“Find him too while you’re at it. Now.”

\---

 

Stiles and Cora were having a jolly old time at the Stilinski household.

And by jolly old time, Stiles meant that he had learned how to make cheese and butter by hand, and Cora had learned to walk with a book on her head and how to sew and dress like a lady.

They were both going out of their minds. Once again Stiles thanked the Maker that he was a man because even the little things that he had been learning to do were amplified in Madame’s training of Cora. 

She had tied Cora to her chair to make her eat the night before and damn if her knots weren’t a bitch to get undone. 

Stiles was lucky that his sisters had been permitted to see him, and when the Sheriff made it home that night, she was going off the rails at him while Stiles read the Bible.

He was that bored.

“What do you think they did all day, hmm? The girl ruined a perfectly good needlepoint and Stiles spent all day flapping his gums with his sisters. Did you know the youngest girl, married not even a week, has lost her husband as well? Him and his donkey have taken off for parts unknown. Murder and abandonment? No wonder the mayor’s daughter broke the engagement.”

John turned to Stiles. “This true?”

“Not sorry to say it is. May he stay gone, that good for nothing –“

Madame cuffed his head. “No Count should be talking like that. Mind your mouth, sir, especially in front of women.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Women were the ones who taught him how to speak like this. 

“John, say something!” His mother screeched, and when he did not, she screamed and ran into her room, slamming the door loudly. 

“So, not only have we lost Jackson but we have also misplaced Isaac.”

“He wasn’t at the manor house?” Stiles said, glancing at Cora, who had dozed off. 

“No, and your husband seems to think some misfortune has befallen him.”

“You two think he’s dead?” Stiles screeched, waking up Cora. John nodded. “Have you all tried everything? Hounds?”

“Everything.”

“You haven’t tried me, sir.” Cora said politely. Or, more like she said it firmly, but her dress and her hair made her seem a little more refined. “I can find Isaac. Once I found him in the middle of the night when he fell down a ravine and broke his leg, two years ago? You remember – no hounds, no nobody but me and you and I found ‘im. Me ‘n Stiles could have him back by dawn.”

 

“I cannot allow it. Letting either of you go would seal your fates. You know Chris Argent would love to see you hang. Such a stupid old brute. He hates looking stupid, and the fact he couldn’t convict anyone of Lady Laura’s murder makes him even more thirsty for your blood. Related to the man who he doesn’t want his daughter marrying and almost a widower twice in a year, you leaving is your head on a platter.”

“What if…” Stiles started, thinking aloud.

“What, son?”

“Well the one thing Peter wants is Derek dead, right? And you didn’t tell anyone that he had woken up?” John shook his head. “Well then, Derek must die. It’s a way to lure him out.”

“But he’s just fine – “

“But not everyone knows that! I sneak out, you tell the town he died this night, I look guilty –“

“And Peter comes running.” John sighed. “Aye, it makes sense. You taking Cora for protection as well, so she becomes your coconspirator. He is dead, I am on the run and you were wrong. And no, I don’t mean we should actually kill Derek. If I’d actually shot him, he’d be dead now.”

“True.” John said. 

Stiles stood and began to pace. “Let no one know of his awakening. I figure you didn’t tell Mistress Laver either?” John shook his head. “Good. Order a coffin, start arraigning for a fine funeral and you’ll have him in no time flat.”

“Do you really think he’ll go for this? My Lord was a soldier first, playing dead won’t go over well with him.”

‘Would he rather his son die by his uncle’s hand?” John paled. “I thought so. It would put Cora in infinite danger as well. Explain it to him simply and if he disagrees, tell him I told you he had to. Now Cora, saddle up, we’re leaving.”

“Now?”

“Can’t wait, I’m afraid. You go back to the manor house and we’ll slip out…”

“Hand me my boots.” John sighed, and they were flung at him with such accuracy that he was taken aback by it. Cora stood by the door, back in her normal clothes, her hair tied back. “Think you’ll succeed?” He asked her.

“Of course.”

\---

Darkness had just fallen when they set out. Stiles was in his muted green shirt and dark breeches, hoping to blend in. He was glad Erica had chosen all of his plainclothes to bring to the house. She had said he should look as if he didn’t care how he looked, but Stiles rarely cared anyways. Cora was in her stablehand clothes, only her eyes giving her away.

Cora and Isaac were two ends of a string, always pulled together by some strange magic they had. They looked opposite, acted opposite and yet they were always in sync. 

Stiles would pay for his disobedience of the mayor’s word when he got back. For now, it was just the two of them quickly darting through the woods on the way to find Isaac.

\---

Derek, however, was not pleased with this plan. He had send the doctor away, and had been feeling better every hour that his weird potions and his leeches were far from Derek’s home. Derek was beginning to think that he only reason he was healing so fast was because his resolve to kill his uncle was growing stronger by the minute. “Like hell will Stiles and Cora go gallivanting off into the woods looking for my uncle.”

“This is the only way –“

“Find another.”

John merely rolled his eyes. “I told him you wouldn’t agree but he insisted, since my men couldn’t find him.”

Derek threw a jug of water at the wall. “Get me my sword then and I’ll join them in the morning. I will not play dead to lure my uncle out. Mistress Laver!”

John sent up a silent prayer to whomever was listening that what he had done was right.

It seemed that the knock on the door came at the perfect time. It was Boyd on the other side of the door. “My Lord, Sheriff, it seems that Stiles and Cora have escaped your house. “

“What?” Derek roared, and suddenly he was up against John’s side in his altogether. Boyd, though a calm person, knew that fleeing this situation was the only way he could win. “Where is my husband, John?”

“Out there, my Lord. Out there.” The Sheriff rubbed his forehead. “I need a drink.”

\---

They had not gone far. 

Stiles and Cora had walked for a few hours. There was no path, but Cora knew her way around the woods easily. Stiles, however, got hit in the face by many a branch and bramble. Being tall had never been such an issue until now, and he started to long to be four feet tall again and not duck his way through a forest. 

They found the cave before the moon had begun its descent. They were living in Wolf Cave – the lot of them had turned what was normally a wolf’s den into a cozy little chalet. A fire roared at the mouth of the cave and there looked to be smoked meat hanging from an interior wall.

Stiles had not expected it to go so well, and now he had to decide what to do. He was turning around to go get the Sheriff when he heard crunches of leaves and twigs. He turned to see Cora running at Matthew with all her might. 

Damn, he thought as Cora pelted the older boy with her fists. “Get off of my brother, you insolent little cur!” She cried. 

Matthew was surprised, letting go of what was apparently Isaac as he was assaulted from his side. Isaac darted out of sight and Matthew wrestled Cora to the ground. “Where did you even come from?”

Cora did the unexperienced thing and glanced back at Stiles. “You!” Matthew cried, pointing with one arm at Stiles. It was to his disadvantage, though, because Cora bit his arm and he let go with a scream. She then stomped on his toes and ran off into the woods. Stiles felt the urge to do the same, but when he turned around he was face to face with Peter Hale. Damn was he sneaky.

“My my, aren’t you supposed to be in jail, Stiles?”

“Aren’t you the scum of the earth, Peter?” Stiles spat out.

“That is no way to talk to your superior!” Julia cried from where she stood at the mouth of the cave.

“In case you’ve forgot, mademoiselle, I am the only one with a title here!” Stiles called back. “The rest of you are just belly feeders.” Stiles then stepped on Peter’s toes quite hard, and with his surprise kneed him in the groin. He went to run when he saw Matthew with Isaac by the scruff, a knife pressed up against his neck. “Let him go, he’s done nothing to you, you lowlife.”

“Can’t. He may inherit if he manages to get back home.”

“Go home, Stiles! Go! I’ll be fine, just run!” Isaac cried, but Stiles couldn’t leave him here. Cora had escaped at least, and he if he and Isaac were to die then Derek would have her. 

His thoughts allowed Peter to sneak up from behind him and bash him on the head. He tumbled and Peter then dragged him into the cave. “Come along, Matthew.”

When they got into the cave, Peter slung Stiles aside like a ragdoll. “Whatever should we do with them?”

“Let us go, for one thing. The Sheriff will be here anon.” He knew Cora would go and find them.

“I say we kill them, Father.” Julia said venomously from her corner. Her hair had grown in size since he had seen her last, but she looked just as nasty as ever with her face screwed up just so. 

“Indeed I will, my darling, indeed. It has been the plan since he married my niece a year ago. He had always been the scapegoat, and he makes it so easy for me to plant stuff on him. Always so indiginant about his place in society getting better and who am I to make him look noble? You sweeping Derek off his feet was not in the plan, but framing you again was equally as smart. Twas more difficult since I couldn’t poison him in person, but I didn’t have to get my own hands dirty this time so it was worth it….” Peter ran a hand against Stiles’ jawline, then slapped him.

“Ugh, kill him now, Father. Kill them both, I’m tired.”

Matthew sputtered. “In cold blood?”

Julia laughed nastily. “Well you almost killed Lord Theoderek in cold blood twice and having him hang for it. Why not just hang him yourself?”

“And the boy? Killing a child, well it isn’t very chivalrous. And Stiles, though he’s a man, has done good for the community and didn’t kill anyone…”

“Idiot. God you are an idiot, Matthew. Father, can you please just kill him and get it over with? Bury him deep in the woods and everyone will think that he ran to get away from killing Lord Theoderek.”

“But My Lord still lives! They won’t hang him if he lives!”

“And if you, you imbecile, had managed to get it right one of the two times you’ve had we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’m starting to believe you didn’t want to kill him after all. Yet after all of that complaining about him I am surprised he wasn’t dead with that first merlon drop.”

“I told you, Father, I can do it! I’ll just tiptoe into the manor house, no one will suspect me,” yeah, right, Stiles though, “and if His Lordship is as sick as they say, I’d be doing a favor smothering him with a pillow.”

Not my pillow, hopefully, Stiles added. He knew it better than to say it aloud though. But he would say, “Kill me if you must. Derek too, if you can get to him. But not the boy. He hasn’t ever hurt a fly, and the will won’t allow him to inherit. It’ll all go to you. What’s the point of killing for killing’s sake? It isn’t very Christian.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is, you both die tonight. Matthew, fetch me that rope we had keeping the boy tied to the rock to sleep. We’ll dispatch Stiles anon, and then the boy after breakfast.”

Stiles felt himself go white. Peter was not playing around with Stiles’ death, but he seemed so nonchalant about it. Before him and Laura how many others had Peter killed? Had the previous Lord and Lady actually died of natural causes?

Julia came up to him, and her beautiful face contorted in disgust as she began to spew hatred. But Stiles only heard the clatter of hooves and the whinnies of horses as he heard his name called.

“Stiles!”

They all looked up to find Cora pointing at them and a pale but alive Derek dismounting from his horse.

\---

No amount of cajoling or idle threats had prevented Derek from joining the search for his husband and children. He was dressed and riding off before the Sheriff’s men had all mounted. He was armed only with his sword and his determination to finish his uncle and shake Stiles silly.

He understood why Stiles had done it though. Stiles had known Isaac his whole life and armed with the knowledge that Derek was alive, knew that having two heirs and no husband would be better than a dead heir, a husband and a daughter who would be distraught at the loss of her twin. 

It was then that it dawned upon him where Isaac had probably run off to – Wolf Cave. It was forbidden by every parent in the town, and within fifty miles. It was a desolate and dangerous place, one many had lost their lives to. Either wolves or the sharp rocks that surrounded the place had deterred Derek from entering it as a child, but Isaac wasn’t terribly afraid of those sort of things and to hide from whomever, he would find the best place. Derek knew that. 

What made him shake in his boots was the arrival of Cora, screaming him down. Her hair was in knots, her clothes torn, and she took one look at Derek and hopped up into the saddle. She pointed her way and Derek called a command back and off they went. 

He could only figure out bits and pieces of what Cora was saying as they rode. She was out of breath and Derek was so focused on getting there that he only caught snippets. But as he broke through the treeline, what he saw was not at all what he expected. Isaac had flung himself on Julia and was currently sitting on her hair, Stiles with his boot atop of Matthew’s throat, and his uncle stood near the mouth of the cave, his face in shock as he held a length of rope shaped like a noose.

Derek saw red. “Good evening, Uncle.”

“Good morning, nephew.” His uncle quickly pulled a dagger and slid behind Stiles, his grip tight, hugging the blade to Stiles’ stomach. “If we had known we were expecting company, we would have put on our finery. Right, Julia?” Julia merely groaned in response. 

Stiles made it worse by trying to go over Peter’s head. “What are you doing here? You should be abed, you aren’t well!”

“Well enough. Plus the Sheriff is behind me.”

“That is what Stiles said and look, there is no one following you. What a lovely pair of liars. You deserve one another. Lucky for you both, you shall die together!” Peter had a maniacal look on his face. 

“As I was saying, uncle, he is behind me and your arrest will come swiftly after. This will deprive me of being able to slit your throat myself, so I would unhand Stiles and take up a sword now, so I would not be embarrassed being dragged back into town by my hair.”

“You think me a fool, nephew? I know you were in the war and handier with a blade than I am.” He tightened his grip on Stiles’ chest, causing him to cough. “You are as good of a swordsman as this one is a marksman.”

“How touching of you to say so, uncle. But I am a wounded man, as you’ve pointed out. Do you see the blood through my bandage?” Derek gestured at his shoulder. “Are you too cowardly to fight a wounded man?”

“Fight him, Father. Matthew will help you!”

“No. No I won’t. This has gone far enough.”

Julia screamed. “What are you talking about?”

“I believed you – the both of you – when you said that Lord Theoderek was an uneducated second child of an Earl that rose to it with sheer luck. I believed you when you said you’d make a better Earl of Stephensgate. But my vision was clouded by a hatred for the unknown, a love of luxury, and not for who you truly are. You’re a coward and a cur and I should never have aligned myself with you. You would kill a child – children if Cora was here – in cold blood because you could. You prefer power over real nobility. I’m just starting to see how wrong I am. I apologize, my Lord.”

“You should be sorry. Your father would consider you a disgrace to your name, and you’re lucky if I thrash you within an inch of your life after this and send you home with your tail between your legs like a dog. You should be so lucky, Matthew.”

This caused Peter to go slackjawed, so Stiles managed a step to his inseam and took off, grabbing Isaac and hurling the two over the threshold of the cave to the feet of Derek and Cora. Cora pulled her brother up and started talking to him in weird twin talk. Stiles just stared up at Derek. “Can we leave?”

“No, my love. I will fight my uncle. He killed my sister, maybe even my whole family, tried to kill my children and my husband. I will fight him ill if the bloody coward will rise to the challenge.”

“For the seat of Stephensgate?” Peter called.

“Yes, you cur.” Derek had grown tired of talking, and he heard the crashing of trees as the Sheriff finally caught up. “Now lets not dilly-dally any longer. En garde.”

Peter had found a blade and brandished it, dropping into a fencer’s stance. Derek was not a fencer, he was a fighter. Peter used his sword like it was an art to meet blades, while Derek put all of his will behind his cuts while Peter danced around him. 

“Why won’t you stand still, Peter?”

“So you can run me through? No thank you.”

As they danced, the Sheriff dismounted and stood next to Stiles. “They fighting for your truth?”

“No, just fighting over who the real earl should be. I’m worried.”

“I wouldn’t be. Derek means to avenge all of the nasty things that have befallen you due to his uncle. Let him win.”

Derek had finally gained the upper hand. Peter, for all of his fancy training, did not have the longevity of someone who had fought in a war, and he was fading fast. Derek kept at it with the same pace though. “Tell me, uncle, was it you that killed my sister with your poison or your bitch of a daughter? They say poison is a woman’s weapon, but you seem to not care about propriety in the art of killing. Peter stumbled and Derek kicked the blade out of the way and pinned his uncle against the cavern wall. 

“Admit you killed my sister. Admit it.”

“Aye, I did. I even let in the poor sod you gave your parents their illness. I blamed your sister’s death on Stiles. And if that idiot had any training with a bow, I could’ve blamed your death on him as well. Getting in my way, stupid child.”

Derek went for his blade but felt a hand on his wrist instead. “Derek, don’t kill him. Not like this. Let the Sheriff be the judge.”

“And why should I do that, Stiles?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. I’m sure they’ll let you be the executioner, but is this how you want to showcase your power to your people? Killing folks without a proper trial, even when you know they’re wrong? What about those who are falsely accused, like, hmm, I don’t know, me, and who almost die for someone else’s actions?”

Derek sighed. “But if he is proven guilty?”

“You’ll kill him them, Your Grace. Don’t you worry.” Sheriff called, and Derek shook Stiles off and then took his sword and knocked his uncle unconscious. 

“This better be the quickest trial ever.” Derek mumbled as Boyd came to pick up Peter.

“Thank you.” Stiles said, squeezing Derek’s arm.

“For what?”

“For listening to me.”

Derek wiped Stiles’ hair away from his face. “Thank you for giving me something to listen to.”

 

\---

In the end, it all went quite neatly. Peter was gone by month’s end, and Matthew and Julia had mysteriously disappeared from their cell the day before his execution. Derek supposed they had fucked off to Scotland or somewhere equally as quiet and mundane, where they’d spend the rest of their lives cleaning houses or mucking stables. 

Erica had her baby, and had recovered much from the loss of Jackson and of her dignity. She had her figure back within a month and even before then Boyd was knocking at the manor door and offering to help her with the babe. He had a good heart, and Derek liked him enough to have him over to the manor on the nights that John came around as well.

Isaac and Cora were written into the will and had begun training to be a little less rough around the edges. Lydia was teaching them how to read and write, but instead of doing it indoors, she taught them underneath blue skies, in the kitchens of inns, in Ennis’ forge. 

The Madame Stilinski finally passed and soon Melissa, the nurse that had raised the Crais family, had nestled her way back into the town. She had become a staple, replacing Stiles in the running and handling of Scott’s life. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised to see her married to the Sheriff by his wedding anniversary.

As for Scott, Allison was still around, her father embarrassed by his antics. Derek disliked the notion, but Stiles knew she’d have the ring back sooner or later.

Derek had proved to be well liked and respected by his people, and he and Stiles had finally created a relationship that was equal in trust and in kindness. 

All was well enough.


End file.
